


Holes

by N16



Series: Holes (Story and Bonus Scenes) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And is bad at emotions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur makes some bad choices, But mostly off-screen, Determined Gwaine, Devastated Arthur, Devastated Gwaine, Drinking, F/M, Friendship, Gen, He has a good idea, Merlin is kind of an idiot, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Obtuse Merlin, So much drinking, but he has a lot of them, but he's an idiot, confused arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N16/pseuds/N16
Summary: Merlin is just a servant. He washes clothes and polishes armor and tidies up the king’s chamber. And sure, he might be friends with the knights, and yes, his relationship with the king is certainly unconventional. But honestly, how important can one servant be?
Relationships: Gwaine & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur (background), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Holes (Story and Bonus Scenes) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116485
Comments: 291
Kudos: 500





	1. Things Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> **This particular story is a bit AU.** One thing I seem to constantly come back to with _Merlin_ is how despite all of Merlin’s praise of Arthur and the future he’ll someday bring about, he never actually makes any move to help Arthur understand that magic isn’t evil. But this story is set in a world where Merlin has tried to sow those seeds and have those conversations. It happens prior to the start of the story, so we don’t actually see it, but it’s an important piece of context to note for the story to make sense.
> 
> Also, warning in advance – chapters lengths are all over the place on this one. Like...crazily inconsistent. (It was meant to be about 3 chapters and ~10K words. Just a "short little story" before I plunged into the next real multi-chapter fic. Sigh. At least it's on the shorter side, right?)

Merlin was acting strange.

Arthur supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Merlin was a strange man, in more ways than one. A mystery Arthur had never quite figured out. But tonight, he was stranger than usual. Distracted, hardly talking when he usually never shut up. And watching Arthur, his eyes following the king around the room, hardly blinking.

Honestly, if it were anyone but Merlin, it might have been a little creepy.

“How is it?” Merlin finally asked as he turned down the bed, initiating conversation for the first time that night. Maybe for the first time that day, now that Arthur stopped to think about it. Arthur looked at him in confusion until Merlin nodded to where Arthur’s hand absently massaged his shoulder, trying to ease the ache.

“Healing,” he answered honestly, sitting back in his chair, grateful for the excuse to avoid the stack of paperwork in front of him. “Better than it was, at least, but Gaius says it still has a ways to go." He gave Merlin a dry smile. “I do think I’ll try to avoid any more battles with vengeful sorcerers for a bit.”

Instead of laughing, Merlin’s eyes darkened. “That was a close call,” he murmured, more to himself than to Arthur.

“I suppose I’m just lucky that wall fell down when it did,” Arthur answered lightly. "Lucky break, that. Another few seconds and he would have finished me off.”

Merlin’s mouth tightened. “It would have been better if it had fallen down thirty seconds earlier.”

“It would have been far worse if it had fallen down thirty seconds later,” Arthur pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Merlin, you fret like an old woman.”

He hoped Merlin would smile, or laugh, or at least insult him back. But instead, his servant just said, “You almost died, Arthur. That’s worth fretting about.”

“I’m the king. I almost die on a frequent basis,” Arthur reminded him, but that just made Merlin slump a little, as though defeated.

“I’m well aware,” he muttered, fluffing a pillow with an unnecessary violence that prompted Arthur to raise his eyebrows.

What was _wrong_ with him? That battle had been weeks ago, but Merlin couldn’t seem to let it go. And tonight, he seemed determined to wallow in Arthur’s near death.

“Lighten up, Merlin,” he ordered, rolling his eyes again. “Save the gloominess for when there’s something to be gloomy about. A sore shoulder hardly merits it.”

Merlin didn’t argue, nor did he smile. He just continued fidgeting with the pillows and covers for the bed. Then he fussed over the fire, which was burning warm and bright. He tidied up Arthur's armor, which was already put neatly away, then pulled out clothes for the following morning, which Arthur had never in eight years seen him do.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Of course,” Merlin said, giving him a grimace that Arthur supposed was meant to be a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re…lingering.”

Merlin paused. “Do you want me to leave?”

Arthur tried to hide an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just not like you, that’s all.”

“I just want everything to be prepared for tomorrow,” Merlin said simply.

Arthur rolled his eyes and let it drop. He wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep yet, and if Merlin wanted to putter around the room, then he could putter. Maybe he’d eventually crack and tell Arthur what was really going on.

But when Merlin spoke again, he just took strange to the next level.

“Arthur?” he asked softly. He’d walked over to the window to shut it for the night, but now he stood looking down at the dark city.

“Yes?”

“You’re a great king. You know that, right? One day, you'll be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking up from the parchment in front of him so he could stare at Merlin in bafflement.

“Are you ill?” he asked after a moment. Merlin gave the window a small smile.

“No, Arthur. I’m not ill.”

“Do you see an army coming?” Arthur was only half joking. Merlin usually only complimented him when they were about to die.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “No. I’m just saying, if someone had told me when I first met you that one day you’d be this great king, I never would have believed it. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t turn out to be true. You’ve really turned out to be a wise and just king. And you’re getting better every day.”

“All right,” Arthur said, turning in his chair to fully face his servant. “Enough of this. What’s going on?”

Merlin sighed. “Does something have to be wrong for me to pay you a compliment?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered immediately, and felt a small rush of relief when Merlin laughed. But his servant didn’t elaborate. Arthur watched him for a long moment, wondering what on earth could be going through his mind as he stared into the distance.

“Do you…” Merlin started hesitantly, then trailed off. Arthur waited for him to continue, but after a minute it became clear he’d abandoned the question.

“Do I what?” Arthur pressed.

Merlin swallowed and turned to face Arthur, although he didn’t meet his eyes. “Do you think I’m a good servant?”

Arthur choked on air.

“I know,” Merlin rushed on, rolling his eyes. “I know I don’t always get my chores done on time, and I don’t always bow when I’m supposed to-”

“You never bow when you’re supposed to,” Arthur interrupted.

“That’s not true. I bowed at your coronation,” Merlin said distractedly. “But my point is, you haven’t fired me. For eight years. So I must be doing something right. Right?”

Arthur’s curiosity and concern escalated into genuine worry. “What’s this about?”

“Please. Just answer me.” And that _please_ …it wasn’t just a request. It was a plea.

“I don’t keep you around because of your mediocre polishing skills, Merlin,” Arthur answered quietly, “and I’m pretty sure you know that. Now _please_ ,” he echoed the word back to him, “tell me what this is about.”

Merlin shook his head and turned away again. “It’s not about anything. I just wondered.” He took a shaky breath and turned back with a bright smile, blinking rapidly. “After all, job security is important. I have that tab at the tavern to pay off.”

Arthur stood, but as he stepped closer to Merlin, his servant stepped back. Arthur continued forward until Merlin’s back hit the wall, and then took a few more steps until the men were only a few feet apart.

Merlin met his gaze, his face even. But in his eyes, Arthur saw a chaos of emotion that he wasn’t sure how to read.

“Merlin,” he said tentatively, arms crossed, “you'd tell me if you were in some sort of trouble, right?”

Merlin laughed, his surprise breaking through the stoic façade. “I’m not in trouble, Arthur. I’m just…I guess I’m trying to make sense of a few things.”

“What things?” Arthur pressed, but Merlin shook his head.

“I’m still thinking it through.”

Arthur considered that for a moment. He wanted to push, but he understood the need to work through something on your own before talking about it.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll let this drop. You take tonight to think about whatever this is. But tomorrow, you tell me what’s going on.”

Merlin smiled, but now Arthur could swear he saw brokenness amidst that chaos in his eyes. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”


	2. The Druid’s Pledge

“This Prince Cadoc,” Arthur mused, twirling his fork through his fingers. “He’s a rather quiet fellow, isn’t he? Not rude, but he's not _friendly_ either. And his behavior at the feast last night was strange, wasn’t it?” He turned to look at his servant inquisitively. “What do you think about him?”

The servant kept his eyes on the floor as he answered, standing perfectly still with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m sure your judgment regarding him is sound, my lord.”

Arthur tried to contain an irritated huff. “For gods’ sake, Morys. You stood behind the man for three hours. Surely you have _some_ opinion?”

Morys gave the floor a bemused look. He certainly would never give Arthur a bemused look, because he would never dare to look Arthur in the eye.

That wouldn’t be _proper_ for a servant.

Gods, Arthur _hated_ having a proper servant.

“I would not presume to pass judgment on a royal, sire,” Morys said.

No. Of course he wouldn’t. A royal could probably fling dung at the man and Morys would reply with a bland smile and a bow. Apparently Arthur would have to figure this Cadoc character out for himself.

“Thank you, Morys. That will be all.”

The servant bowed crisply and left the room, passing Gwen as she came in.

“Everything all right?” she asked as she took in the expression on Arthur’s face.

“I need to talk to the steward this afternoon,” Arthur grumbled. “I need a different servant. This one is hopeless.”

His new bride looked past him to the immaculate chambers. Then she sighed and sat down next to him, taking his hand.

“Do you think there’s any point in asking for a new servant?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure it’s a good look for the king to push his own manservant down the stairs, and that’s where we’re heading if this one sticks around.” He pulled his hand away from Gwen to take another bite of his lunch. “He irritates me.”

“That’s what you said about the last one,” she reminded him gently. “Arthur, you and I both know you’re looking for something you’re not going to find. The best you can hope for is just that he’ll be proficient at a servant’s duties.”

Not some _thing_. Gwen knew that as well as he did.

Some _one_.

And Gwen was right. None of these servants would be Merlin. But Arthur still heard his servant’s voice – because when he said “his servant,” he still meant Merlin, no matter how much time had passed – speaking to him all those years ago, just after the bite from the questing beast, making his odd request.

He'd acted strangely that night. Almost like he was saying goodbye. Arthur had been relieved when the young man didn’t mysteriously disappear.

Merlin had also acted strangely the night before he _did_ mysteriously disappear. Strangely enough to make Arthur worry. But he hadn’t thought he was saying goodbye. The idea hadn’t even crossed Arthur’s mind. Even now, replaying that final conversation in his mind as he had a hundred times (a thousand times, ten thousand times), it still didn’t feel like _goodbye_.

But something had been wrong that night, and he’d known it. And he’d let Merlin walk out the door anyway. He’d let him walk out of his chambers and out of his life with the promise of an explanation _tomorrow_.

He should have pushed. He was Merlin’s master, his _king_ , and he should have demanded Merlin answer his questions.

Arthur’s life contained many decisions he regretted. Letting Merlin walk away that night was high on the list.

He didn’t say any of this to Gwen. Most of it he had said before, in one way or another, and repeating it would just make her worry.

But he did say, “My manservant can’t be a bootlicker. I promised.”

* * *

The druids didn’t send emissaries.

Maybe it was because they didn’t have that kind of social structure. Maybe it was because magic was illegal, and they believed an emissary would likely be killed (and only a few short years ago, that would have been true). Maybe it was because they held so little regard for the king that the idea seemed pointless. Arthur had never really thought about it before; he simply accepted it as a fact of life.

So when Leon told him the druids had sent an emissary who wished to speak with him, it took him a few seconds to process that information. Then his curiosity caught up with him, and he only paused long enough for new-Morys to bring his crown before he hurried off.

When he entered the throne room, his eyes automatically scanned the small crowd, searching.

Not for Merlin. Arthur no longer looked up, expecting to see Merlin nearby. He didn’t turn mindlessly to taunt his manservant, only to discover he wasn’t there. He didn’t mentally stow information or stories and think, _I should tell Merlin about that later_. Those habits, once as natural and unthinking as breathing, had broken months ago. And they’d broken something in Arthur along the way.

No, Arthur looked for Gwaine. He spotted him, standing to the side with a group of knights, and his stomach fell. So Gwaine had returned. If he’d found anything, even the hint of a rumor, he would have come to Arthur the moment he’d arrived at the castle. The fact he hadn’t rushed to Arthur immediately told the king everything he needed to know.

It seemed, after so long, Arthur shouldn’t be able to feel disappointment anymore. After all, he certainly didn’t feel hope, and shouldn’t one need hope in order to be disappointed? But apparently that wasn’t true, because every time Gwaine came back empty, Arthur had a few seconds where his lungs froze and he couldn’t breathe.

“Sir Gwaine,” he said, after taking his throne. “Report.”

“Sire, the druid emissary is waiting,” one of the lords protested, but he fell silent when Arthur lifted a hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said flatly. “This won’t take long.”

It didn’t.

“I’m sorry,’ Gwaine said, stepping forward. And for a moment, Arthur thought that might be the entire report. It _could_ be the entire report, because honestly, what else was there to say? But Gwaine continued.

“We traveled east again this time, and stopped at every outlying village until we reached the border of the kingdom. No one has seen or heard anything about a young man matching Merlin’s description. We combed the woods on the way back, but found nothing. We’ll rest for a few weeks, then set out toward the south.”

“Why?”

Arthur and Gwaine both turned to look at the same man who had spoken before. Lord Beldon. He hadn’t spent much time at court in the past, but he had established more of a presence in recent months. Arthur still didn’t know him all that well. Apparently he didn’t know Arthur well either.

“It has been over a year since this servant disappeared, hasn’t it?” the lord continued. “Why do we continue to waste resources on this?”

“We have three knights searching part-time, Lord Beldon, not an army,” Arthur answered tersely. “And we’re not at war. We can spare three men.”

“That’s three fewer men to protect the citadel in case of an attack,” Beldon argued. “That’s three men whose skills are lagging because they aren’t training as consistently to stay sharp. My lord, you must admit, either the boy is dead or he doesn’t wish to be found.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Beldon, a number of replies running through his head, none of them kind. But before he could say anything, another voice broke in softly.

“Arthur.”

That was all Leon said. Just his name. But the word held such pity that no other words were necessary for Arthur to understand his meaning. He directed his glare at the knight instead of Beldon, but Leon didn’t flinch or back down. He met Arthur’s eyes with a look of compassion and defeat.

But no anguish, Arthur realized. None of the pain he saw on Gwaine’s face, or even in his own reflection in his rawer moments.

A quick glance around confirmed his closest knights all wore similar expressions, although few dared to hold his gaze as Leon did. Arthur knew these men cared about Merlin. They were his _friends_. On the throne next to his, Gwen kept her eyes on the floor, her mouth pressed into a resigned line. He looked to the back of the room and spotted Gaius, but the physician avoided his gaze, his face unreadable. A surge of anger welled up in him, because _Gaius_ of all people should be on his side.

For the first time, he realized how many people had already given up. How many people had already grieved.

Were he and Gwaine the only ones who couldn’t rest until they found answers?

“Beldon makes a valid point,” Gwaine spoke up flatly, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the lord bristle at Gwaine’s omission of his title. “We don’t need a party. I can search alone. I’ll travel more swiftly that way, and Camelot can have its two knights back for protection.”

Arthur studied his friend for a long moment. Gwaine wouldn’t stop until he found Merlin, whether he was safe and sound, or…

Well. He wouldn’t stop until he found him. No matter what. And perhaps there would be some advantages to him working unencumbered by others.

“Very well,” Arthur agreed. “When you set out again, you’ll go alone. I thank you for your faithful efforts in this task, Sir Gwaine.”

Gwaine bowed and stepped back, managing to accidentally bump into Lord Beldon as the man grumbled under his breath, the words “foolish” and “wasteful” reaching Arthur’s ears. He considered calling the man out on it, but ultimately decided he didn’t feel like having that fight.

“All right,” he announced, waving a hand to the guards manning the doors. “Show in the emissary."

Arthur raised his eyebrows as the druid walked into the room; typically the emissaries he received were men. But perhaps the druids did things differently.

“My lord,” the woman said, kneeling before the throne. Arthur saw the stiffness in her shoulders, the tension in her hands, but her face held no fear. Only caution, and something that looked suspiciously like hope. “My name is Golda. I come on behalf of three druid camps in the northern part of Camelot.”

“You are welcome,” Arthur answered, allowing his curiosity to show in his voice, and the woman’s hands loosened at his words. “Please, stand.”

Golda did so, chancing a quick look at Arthur’s face before returning her gaze humbly to the floor.

“I admit, I’ve had little interaction with the druids since the beginning of my reign,” Arthur said lightly. “I'm intrigued to know what would bring you to the city. What do you seek?”

A small smile crossed the woman’s face. “I’ve come with no requests or demands, my lord. Simply a desire for information.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Information?” She spoke of it casually, but information could be a valuable commodity indeed.

Golda stood a bit straighter, and though she kept her head tilted slightly down, her curious eyes looked up at Arthur. “I’ve been sent to investigate whether the rumors about you might be true.”

A low murmuring broke out behind her, and Arthur lifted his hand to silence it, keeping his eyes focused on the woman. “What rumors?”

Golda licked her lips nervously. “Rumors that you may be the king we have heard you to be. That you are fair and just, and care more for your people than for your pride or glory.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. He’d expected something rather less complimentary. “Those are...rumors you've heard?” he clarified, and Golda smiled.

“Yes, my lord. We have heard you no longer seek to persecute our people. That we may be safe in Camelot once more."

Arthur fought a shudder as he remembered the drowned boy who had worn Elyan’s face, and the sincere vow he had made to him.

“The druids have proven themselves to be peaceful,” he said. “I know I have sins in my past, but I do not seek to harm your people. If you continue to be at peace with Camelot, Camelot will continue to be at peace with you.”

Golda tilted her head. “And what of magic, my lord?”

Arthur sat back in his throne, doing his best to keep his face impassive even as he sighed internally. This was the question he’d never been able to successfully unravel.

“Magic continues to be illegal in Camelot,” he said evenly. “But I understand its importance in druid culture, and I will not interfere with what is done within the confines of your own camps.”

Even that much of an allowance uneased him, but it was the best compromise he could find.

“You’ve seen much of the evil of magic, but very little of the good it can do.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at her soft tone. It sounded less like an observation than a confirmation, as though she were echoing something she’d been told.

“I suppose that's true,” he allowed cautiously.

Golda stared at him for a long moment, then her eyes warmed, her smile taking on an air of awe. “He spoke the truth,” she murmured to herself, and Arthur sat up straighter.

“Who spoke the truth?” He forced himself to keep his voice even, trying to present it as a question rather than a demand. Even so, Golda hesitated before proceeding uncertainly.

“Emrys, my lord.”

Arthur frowned, unfamiliar with the name. “Who is Emrys?”

Golda’s uncertainty grew and she shifted uneasily. “He is a sorcerer, sire. A legendary one, spoken of in the prophecies of our people.”

A legendary sorcerer. Wonderful.

“And this Emrys is the one who told you of these, uh…‘rumors’?”

The woman nodded. “He came to visit our camp a few months ago and stayed for a couple weeks. He told us of your love for your people. Of your willingness to sacrifice yourself to the veil when the dorocha came years ago, and of how you once defied your father to retrieve a remedy for a servant who’d been poisoned.”

Arthur tried to ignore the sharp pain in his chest at the mention of Merlin, focusing instead on the alarm Golda’s words conjured. Neither of those stories were widely known.

“How did Emrys know these things?” he asked quietly, but Golda just shook her head.

“I truly don’t know, sire. He spoke as though he knew of the events personally.”

“I see.” So either this sorcerer was in Camelot, or - more likely - he had a contact within Camelot. Someone close enough to Arthur to have more knowledge of his actions than the average citizen. “I’m curious about this Emrys. I would very much like to speak with him myself, if I could. Would you be willing to pass that message along?”

“I shall certainly try, sire. I'm afraid I do not know how to contact him, but if he returns to our camp, I will tell him.”

“I appreciate that,” Arthur said, trying to force a smile. “Have you any other questions for me, Golda?”

The woman’s smile turned shy, and she shook her head. “No, my lord. I will pass along your message of peace. I only wish to say that if you are indeed the king Emrys says you are, then we are all grateful to be living in Camelot at such a time as this. We are hopeful about what the future may bring, both for you and through you.” She hesitated before adding, with a slight tremor of nervousness, “The druids I represent pledge their loyalty to you, King Arthur. Should you ever need our assistance, you need only send word.”

She bowed, deeply and sincerely, then departed the room, leaving Arthur with more questions than answers.

* * *

“I thought you weren’t leaving for a few more weeks?” Arthur asked, watching as Gwaine packed his bag. The knight just shrugged in response.

“The break was primarily for the other men. I lived on the move for a long time. I don’t need much rest.”

Arthur had feared as much.

“No armor,” he observed. “No cape.”

Gwaine avoided his eyes. “I won’t be searching for him as a knight of Camelot. Not this time. That tactic has gotten me nowhere for over a year.”

“No, Gwaine,” Arthur ordered softly, and his friend looked up crossly, an argument ready on his face, but Arthur held up a hand. “Go without the armor and the cape. But you will still be a knight of Camelot, whether you’re dressed as one or not.”

Gwaine let out a dry laugh. “Of course.”

“I mean it,” Arthur insisted, taking a step closer. He pulled the bag away from Gwaine, demanding the other man’s attention.

He knew what was happening, and he couldn’t bear it.

“You’re going to search,” Arthur said, speaking slowly once Gwaine met his eyes. “You’re going to find him. And you’re going to bring him home. But in the meantime, _you are a knight of Camelot_. You’ll continue to come home at least once a month and give me an update. You’ll have quarters in the castle. You’ll join training when you’re here. _You are a knight._ ”

Gwaine ran a hand through his hair. “Arthur…”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, and Gwaine flinched at his tone. “You’re not going back to living on the wind, wandering through the Five Kingdoms with no home and no friends.” He paused before continuing, his voice quieter, but no softer. “I’ve already lost one friend, at least until you find him. I will not lose another.”

Gwaine stood silent for a moment, then swallowed and nodded. “Of course,” he said roughly. Then he laughed, although emotion strangled the sound. “After all, Merlin would never forgive me if I abandoned you.”

Arthur managed a smile, but he couldn’t laugh. Because he and Gwaine both knew that was entirely true.

“It might not be once a month,” Gwaine added. “But I will come back, Arthur. I promise.”

“Fine,” Arthur agreed. “But no more than six weeks.”

“All right,” Gwaine said, finally offering a small smile. “No more than six weeks. Now, before I go…” he grabbed a couple of cups and a bottle of ale from a shelf behind his bed. “Have a drink with me?”

He poured the drinks without waiting for an answer; this had become a tradition for them before he left each time.

“To Merlin,” Gwaine toasted, “a friend worth searching for.”

“To Merlin,” Arthur echoed darkly. “Wherever he is, I hope he’s having the time of his life, because I’m going to make his life hell when he gets home.”

The two men finished off the bottle, and a few more bottles after that. Arthur skipped a council meeting that afternoon, and late that night, new-Morys helped a drunk Arthur stumble back to his quarters. Gwaine left at dawn the following morning.

* * *

“Dover isn’t a witchfinder,” Arthur explained patiently for the third time. “He’s a headhunter who specializes in locating sorcerers.”

Gwen’s nostrils flared in rage. “A witchfinder by another name is still a witchfinder, Arthur! Have you forgotten Aredian? He planted evidence, he accused Merlin, and he nearly had Gaius executed! And it only takes a few minutes with this _Dover_ to see he's cut from the same cloth!"

Fourteen months, and not one day had passed without some kind of mention of Merlin. His servant was too deeply ingrained into Arthur’s life, into his history, into Camelot itself.

“Dover isn’t a witchfinder,” Arthur said for the fourth time. “This Emrys knows things no sorcerer should know, and we have no clue what his motives may be. And if he’s able to get information about myself and about Camelot, who’s to say Morgana can’t get that same information? Or other sorcerers who mean us harm? Someone in Camelot is consorting with sorcerers, Guinevere, and I need to know who.”

Gwen’s eyes glistened with furious tears. “You’re the king, Arthur. Do what you will. But you and I both know Merlin would be disappointed in you for this.”

Arthur drew back, stunned. Gwen looked away, wiping her eyes guiltily, but when she looked at him again, he saw the determined set of her jaw.

“I know that’s harsh to say,” she said roughly. “And I take no joy in hurting you. But you know I’m right. _He_ certainly wouldn't have forgotten the image of Gaius on the pyre.”

Arthur just stared for a moment, then grabbed his gloves.

“I’m late,” he muttered, walking swiftly from the room and slamming the door behind him.

Apparently this was a part of marriage he hadn’t been prepared for: loving someone who knew exactly how to stab him where it hurt the most.

And maybe she was right. Maybe he could even hear Merlin’s voice in his head, calling him a clotpole and then spewing wisdom that would somehow lead Arthur onto the right path.

But Merlin and his wisdom weren’t here, and Arthur honestly wasn't sure where the right path lay.


	3. The Hunt

“If you’ve come to lecture me again, I really don’t feel up to another round,” Arthur said darkly when the queen entered his chambers. “I’ve already spoken with Dover about his behavior.”

Gwen’s mouth tightened for a moment, then she sighed.

“I didn’t come to lecture you, Arthur.” She walked across the room to where he sat at his desk, and perched on the arm of the chair, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “And I didn’t come to fight.”

Some of the tension drained out of him, and he leaned against her.

“I still don’t agree with you on this,” she said softly, leaning over to rest her head against his. “I can’t help that. And Dover’s behavior has done nothing to change my opinion.”

Arthur tried not to wince. The headhunter’s actions that day were hard to defend. They’d had yet another magic user seek an audience with the king to pledge fealty on behalf of their people - the fifth to do so now - but this time it wasn’t a druid. No, this had been a high priest of the Old Religion, an unsettling man named Alator.

And even though he’d behaved peaceably and said he had come to swear loyalty to Arthur, Dover had tried to seize him for questioning. Alator had used magic to flee the castle, evading the guards with little effort and, thankfully, without hurting anyone.

Arthur was livid, partly because he would rather not have word spread to those with magic that he was having them arrested if they came in peace, and partly because he _really_ would have liked to know how on earth a high priest of the Old Religion came to the decision to swear loyalty to _him_. Although truth be told, he still had no idea what he would have done with the man if he hadn't fled. Letting druids go free was one thing; letting a high priest go free was another matter entirely.

“I’ve always been honest with you before, and I’m not going to stop now,” Gwen continued gently. “But even though I disagree, I love you. I think you’re a good king. A good man.”

Arthur closed his eyes, soaking up the words. When was the last time someone had called him a good king? The druids who had arrived over the past three months often said something along those lines, but they were just repeating what they’d been told by another – this mysterious _Emrys_ figure. And before that?

Merlin used to tell him he was doing a good job. That he had what it took to make a great king. He'd said it that last night before he vanished, in fact. Merlin, who was insolent and irreverent and generally disrespectful, had made Arthur feel like just maybe he could be the kind of king Camelot deserved.

Clark, his latest manservant, was subservient and obedient and never strayed from duty. He would never tell Arthur he was a great king. Unless Arthur ordered him to, of course.

“Thank you,” Arthur said quietly. “I know I’ve been cross with you recently. I don’t know why you put up with me, Guinevere.”

“Because I love you,” Gwen said with an affectionate smile, and she kissed him on the forehead. “Now, what I came to tell you is that Gwaine is back.”

Arthur stood as quickly as he could without unceremoniously dropping his wife on the floor, gave her a quick kiss, and hurried to Gwaine’s quarters.

He felt no hope Gwaine had found him. And yet, that coldness permeated his chest when he saw his friend's face and his suspicions were confirmed.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Gwaine said flatly, not looking up from the bottle in his hand. “Have a seat.”

Arthur sat, but waved off the offer of the bottle. He had too much to do this afternoon.

“You said six weeks,” he reminded the knight, unable to keep the sullenness out of his voice, and Gwaine grimaced in apology.

“I thought I had a lead. Something in the northern part of the kingdom. I chased it for weeks, but it led nowhere.”

Arthur’s forgiveness came instantly. He would have done the same. In fact, if Gwaine had found a lead and had come to Camelot to check in instead of pursuing it, Arthur would have been more than a little angry with him.

“Now,” Gwaine drawled, “tell me about this witchfinder. I’ve been home less than an hour and I’ve already had three people ask me what I think of him.”

Arthur felt a flash of relief at Gwaine’s use of the word “home,” even as his annoyance flared at the word “witchfinder.”

“Dover is a headhunter, not a witchfinder,” Arthur corrected him. “I’ve hired him to help us find Emrys and - just as importantly - Emrys’s informant inside Camelot. He is nothing like the witchfinder we had here years ago. He doesn’t torture people for information, and he doesn’t carelessly throw accusations around and wait to see what sticks. He’s been performing polite, respectful, in-depth interviews with everyone in the castle to gather information.”

“I heard in his polite interview with Elyan, he mentioned Elyan’s father was killed because he consorted with sorcerers. He suggested that inclination might run in the family,” Gwaine said lightly, although Arthur saw the challenge in his eyes.

He hadn’t heard about that. He’d have to speak with Elyan and find out if it were true. Dover knew Elyan’s father was also the queen’s father; he was flirting with a dangerous line there.

“Someone in Camelot is sharing information about me with sorcerers,” Arthur said, dodging the subject of Elyan. “If they spoke with Emrys, they may speak with others, including Morgana. I can’t risk that.”

* * *

Arthur didn’t actually like Dover. He spent so much time defending the man that he sometimes managed to convince himself with his own arguments. But then he’d end up sitting at a table with him, having a real conversation with him, and he’d remember just how little he enjoyed his presence.

Still, Dover was an expert. And Arthur did like that.

The man knew how to catch someone in a lie. He knew how to recognize a pattern between multiple people’s stories to catch details Arthur never would have noticed. And although Arthur knew he was oily and sneaky, he appreciated the man’s guidance. So despite the uneasiness the man prompted in him, Arthur often went to the headhunter for advice before anyone else.

In fact, if he were being entirely honest, he probably spent more time with Dover than he did anyone else these past couple months. But that was only to be expected in times like these; tracking down Emrys and his informant had to be a top priority.

And maybe...maybe there was another reason he preferred to spend time with the headhunter than with his knights or his council.

When he was with Dover, he didn’t feel the gap.

In council meetings, Clark stood behind him with a water pitcher, but he had no cutting observations or clever jokes to mutter under his breath as he refilled Arthur’s cup. When Arthur left Camelot with his knights, no servant rode to his right, prattling and complaining the entire way. On the rare occasions he visited a tavern with his friends – something he hadn’t done for months now – there was no one there to take all his money in a game of dice.

But Dover had come after Merlin disappeared. So when Arthur met with the headhunter, just the two of them, it felt exactly the way it always had.

And yes, he did sometimes wonder what Merlin would think of the man, and that question always made him a little queasy. After all, Merlin had told him more than once he didn’t believe all magic was inherently bad. Those comments had always earned him a double lecture from Arthur in return – one about the evils of sorcery, and one about the wisdom in holding his tongue regarding certain thoughts. Arthur could easily envision him reacting to Dover with incredulous disdain.

But, he reasoned with himself, Merin had also prioritized Camelot’s wellbeing and Arthur’s safety above anything else. So it was possible that, like Arthur, he would set aside his own discomfort for the good of the kingdom. So unless - no, _until_ – Merlin came home and could tell him his thoughts, there was little use in speculating.

“I have a lead,” Dover informed him one evening as the two of them dined alone. “A man who has admitted to consorting with sorcerers before. I met with him today, and will speak with him again tomorrow. I am certain he knows more than he is telling.”

Arthur perked up. For all the information Dover had found, he had yet to actually name a suspect.

“What man is this?”

“His name is Gaius,” Dover answered as he took a bite. “He’s your Court Physician.”

Arthur froze, his fork poised to spear a piece of food.

Guinevere was going to kill him.

“Yes, I know who Gaius is,” he said sharply. “I trust him completely.”

“That would explain how he would have so much information about you to share, my lord,” Dover replied in a light voice.

“Gaius is a dear friend, and men have made the mistake in the past of accusing him unfairly to advance their own interests.” Arthur set his fork down to glare at Dover, his voice firm. “I will not make the same mistake. And neither will you. You will treat him with the respect he is due.”

 _Don’t worry, Merlin_ , Arthur thought before he could help himself. _I won’t let anything happen to him._

“The man’s stories don’t add up, your majesty,” Dover insisted. “He may be innocent, but he is certainly hiding something.” He paused, then placated, “What if you joined me in my interview with him tomorrow? Then you can be certain he is treated fairly and appropriately.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed immediately. “I will certainly be there for his interview.”

* * *

Gaius paused with one foot inside Dover’s study, his eyes widening as he spotted the king.

“Sire?” he asked hesitantly, looking back and forth between Arthur and Dover.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Gaius,” Arthur assured him. “I'm just here to ensure this interview is conducted properly and respectfully.” He paused, then added bluntly, “I want to be certain we avoid any repeats of past mistakes.”

He didn’t like drawing parallels between the headhunter and the old witchfinder, given how things had gone before. But he saw the memories of Aredian in the older man’s eyes, and he knew the witchfinder’s name had been murmured throughout the castle since the day Dover arrived. Playing ignorant would do nothing to ease Gaius’s anxiety.

“I simply wanted to follow up on some of what we talked about yesterday,” Dover said smoothly, gesturing to the chair opposite him. Arthur stood behind the headhunter, his arms crossed, trying to keep his face impassive as he stared at the floor. Hopefully this would be over with quickly, and then Arthur could send Gaius on his way with an embarrassed smile and an apology. And with any luck, Guinevere would never hear about it.

“Of course,” Gaius agreed, taking the seat. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, you admitted to sorcery in your youth,” Dover began, consulting his notes. “And you admitted to helping sorcerers escape the Great Purge.”

Arthur jerked his head up in astonishment, and the old physician looked down, avoiding his eyes.

“There were others like me, sire,” he said softly. “People who intended no evil, who would never act against Camelot. We weren’t criminals; sorcery was legal when we practiced it. Uther, in his wrath and grief, could not see that.”

“You helped them escape,” Arthur repeated, trying to let that sink in. “For how long?”

“Only in the immediate aftermath,” Gaius said quickly. “Several at the very beginning, and a small handful more over the next year or so.”

“And you have consorted with no sorcerers since then?” Arthur pressed.

There was just the slightest hesitation before Gaius said, “Of course not, sire.”

Arthur’s stomach sank, and he wondered how Gaius had gotten away with helping these sorcerers escape behind his father’s back when he was such a terrible liar.

“What would you do,” Dover cut in, “if you met another such sorcerer now? One whom you believed would not act against Camelot?”

“Things are different now,” Gaius said mildly. “As I said, sorcery wasn’t illegal back then. They committed no crime. No one practicing magic now could claim the same."

Arthur felt the beginnings of panic in his blood. Gaius was evading. But he had promised Merlin he wouldn’t let anything happen to his guardian, and the fact that Merlin didn’t know about the promise did nothing to lessen Arthur’s commitment to it.

“Answer the question, please,” Dover demanded, and Gaius’s mouth tightened.

“I would not help anyone who chose to practice sorcery now,” he said tersely.

Arthur wondered why he seemed to choose his words so carefully.

“Thank you,” Dover said with an unctuous smile. “Now, have you had any interactions in the past five years with anyone you knew to have magic?”

Gaius’s breath hitched slightly, barely noticeable, before he said, “No.”

Another lie.

“Dover,” Arthur spoke up softly, and the man turned around in surprise. “Leave us.”

The headhunter blinked, then frowned. “Sire…”

“Leave us,” Arthur repeated firmly.

Dover scowled, looking quite put out at being cast out of his own interrogation, but he reluctantly traipsed from the room, pausing to give one last lingering look at Gaius before closing the door.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Gaius staring at Dover’s desk while Arthur stood behind it, arms still crossed as he watched the man. Then he let out a sigh and took Dover’s chair.

“Look at me, Gaius,” he ordered, and when the man obeyed, Arthur was surprised by the defiance he saw in his eyes. “Tell me,” he demanded, keeping his voice gentle. “What dealings do you have with sorcerers?”

Gaius lifted his chin slightly. “I would never do anything to endanger Camelot or to endanger you, sire,” he answered, a note of censure in his voice, and Arthur nodded in acceptance.

“I believe that. But I also believe you’re lying to me. Are you Emrys’s informant?”

Gaius hesitated just a moment too long, and Arthur sighed and sat back in his chair.

“Who is he, Gaius? Why does he want information about me? And why in the world would he go visit druid camps and priests and tell them I’m a good king? What kind of game is the man playing?”

“There is no game, Arthur,” Gaius answered evenly, and Arthur felt a flash of surprise at Gaius’s use of his name, even as he processed his words.

“So you do know him,” he realized, sitting up straighter. “You know who he is. You know his purpose.”

Gaius didn’t answer, his jaw set stubbornly, but he didn’t move his eyes from Arthur’s.

Damn it. Out of everyone in Camelot, why did it have to be Gaius?

“All right,” Arthur said heavily. “Out of respect for your friendship, and out of respect for—” he broke off, closing his eyes briefly before he continued. “Well, I’m not going to arrest you, Gaius. But I know you’re lying to me, and I need answers. If you won’t tell me who Emrys is or what the nature of your relationship is with him, you force my hand to seek that information through other means."

He stood and summoned Dover back into the room.

“Search his chambers,” he said flatly, shivering as he spotted the excited gleam in the man’s eye.

“As you wish, sire.” Dover bowed and hurried towards the door, failing to contain his eagerness.

“Dover,” Arthur called after him, and the man paused. “Search thoroughly, but search respectfully. I don’t want one bottle spilled. Not one book damaged, not one paper out of order. I don’t want Gaius to even be able to tell you were there. Understood?”

Dover’s face fell. “Sire, it will take far more time--”

“Then take far more time,” Arthur interrupted coldly. “Do you understand my orders?”

Dover forced a smile before bowing again. “Of course, my lord.”

* * *

“Be careful with that,” Gaius said for the umpteenth time, and Dover scowled at him.

“I _am_ being careful,” he snapped.

“Dover,” Leon warned, “just do as he says and be careful with it.” He picked up a stack of papers, thumbing through it gently before laying it back down on the table, ensuring he didn’t disturb Gaius’s organization.

Leon had been charged with searching homes before, almost always for signs of sorcery, and almost always fruitlessly. This was the first time he’d done it under Arthur's reign, however; the son did not share his father’s fervor for such things.

Typically, lower knights would be assigned to a task like this, but Leon understood why Arthur had sent him to accompany the witchfinder. And he was more than willing to supervise and act as Gaius’s protector, out of respect for the man himself, and out of respect for his missing friend.

Arthur might think him heartless for giving up hope. He saw the accusation in the king’s eyes on those rare occasions when Merlin came up in conversation. But Leon hadn’t given up because he didn’t care about Merlin. He would risk his own life without hesitation to bring him back, but after so long, he had to face facts. Beldon was right; either Merlin was dead, or he didn’t want to be found.

Leon missed him, though. Missed his humor and his kindness and his sharp tongue.

But mostly, he missed Arthur. He missed who Arthur had been with Merlin. Because now, it was clearer than ever that Arthur _needed_ Merlin.

Leon wasn’t shocked by that knowledge; after all, unlike many of the knights, he had known Arthur before Merlin had come into his life. He’d seen the way an arrogant bully had grown into a thoughtful leader under the subtle influence of his servant’s friendship. But even he had been startled to realize how much Arthur _still_ needed him.

No one would say it aloud, but Arthur had grown harder in Merlin’s absence. Harsher. Even – dare he say it? – more like Uther. And the witchfinder was a perfect example of that.

“What’s back here?” Dover asked, and Leon winced as he saw the man climb the steps at the back of the chambers.

“A room,” the physician answered shortly. “It can be used as a bedroom or a supply room.”

Dover raised an eyebrow at him. “And what do you use it for?”

Leon intervened, approaching Dover so he could spare Gaius from explaining. “It was Merlin’s room,” he informed him in a low voice.

“Who's that?” Dover asked, and Leon froze at the question.

“Arthur has never spoken of Merlin?” he said in astonishment, and he could see the truth in the blank look in Dover’s eyes. “He was Arthur’s manservant and Gaius’s ward.”

“Was?” Dover repeated, understanding dawning.

“Yes,” Leon answered curtly. “Was.”

He hesitated for a moment before following Dover through the door. He’d never been in Merlin’s room before, so he had no memories attached to this place. Even so, it was _Merlin’s_ , and perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt like he could sense the young man in there. And while he had no interest in standing there wallowing in the discomfort of it, he had even less interest in letting Dover in the room alone.

“It’s unwise to search in here,” he advised the witchfinder. “The king will not be pleased to hear you disturbed Merlin’s things.”

“I doubt the king will care much one way or another about a dead servant,” Dover said flippantly, and Leon almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “Besides, I was ordered to search Gaius’s chambers, and this is part of Gaius’s chambers.”

“Don’t disturb _anything_ ,” Leon ordered, and Dover rolled his eyes.

“Are you going to help, or just stand there?”

“I think I’ll stand here,” Leon answered firmly. He would not go pawing through Merlin’s things.

Or the remnants of Merlin’s things, rather. Because as they all knew, Merlin packed a bag before he disappeared. There were no clothes in the cupboard, no shoulder bag lying on the floor. There was just a neatly made bed, some candles, and some sketches hanging from the wall.

They had to be Merlin’s, Leon realized. He never knew the man could draw like that.

But then again, he didn’t know Merlin was capable of packing a bag and leaving in the middle of the night, abandoning his life and abandoning Arthur. So he didn’t know Merlin like he thought he did.

It took less than a minute for Dover to confirm there was nothing to find. But as he turned back towards the door, he paused, shifting his weight back and forth with a strange look in his eye.

“Lookie there,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Loose floorboard.”

He knelt, and sure enough, a floorboard pulled up easily in his hands. The witchfinder peered into the hole, and his grin grew even wider. “What have we here?” he said delightedly, reaching in and pulling out a book. He glanced at it briefly, then set it aside to reach back into the hole.

But Leon couldn’t dismiss the book quite so easily. Because even from across the room, he could tell what it was. The marks on the leather. The aura of age and mystery it emitted. The fact it was _hidden under the floorboards_.

Why was there a book of magic in Merlin’s room?

Dover pulled his hand back out, and this time he clenched a stack of folded papers. Leon could see Gaius’s name written across the top one.

The witchfinder unfolded it, and his grin turned gleeful. “Letters!” he declared.

Leon snatched the papers out of his hands, startling the man, who quickly scowled at him.

“Those are evidence, Sir Leon.”

“They’re private correspondence,” Leon replied firmly. “If anyone is going to read them, it will be the king. But there’s certainly no reason for you or I to go through them.”

“I must read them to find out if they’re relevant,” Dover protested. “I don’t want to waste his majesty’s time if they turn out to be nothing.”

“They were hidden with a spellbook. That’s enough to warrant bringing them to the king.”

Leon stepped back into Gaius’s chambers to find the physician watching and waiting. His defeated look told him Gaius had heard every word, and there was no surprise on the physician’s face when he spotted the letters in Leon’s hands. There was, however, a depth of heartbreak Leon couldn’t help but pity, tinged with fear.

He prayed whatever these letters were, whatever Gaius’s explanation was for the book, it was enough. He couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to Merlin’s guardian. And he couldn’t bear the thought of Arthur having to make that choice.

Dover quickly forgot to sulk at Leon’s interference, and he sped towards the throne room at a pace Leon couldn’t match while escorting Gaius. He kept a hand on the old man’s shoulder, more guiding than restraining, and squeezed it once or twice for encouragement. When they finally reached the throne room, they found Dover pacing back and forth impatiently.

“Finally,” he growled, snatching the letters from Leon’s hand and signaling the guards to open the doors.

“Evidence, your majesty,” Dover declared as soon as he entered the room. Leon followed, helping Gaius to kneel in front of the throne rather than throwing him to his knees. “A spellbook and private correspondence, all hidden beneath the floorboards of the back room.”

Leon saw the slight flinch on Arthur’s face at the mention of Merlin’s bedroom. To his right, amidst a group of knights, he also noticed Gwaine’s hands clench into fists.

“A spellbook?” Arthur repeated, holding out his hands for both the book and the letters. Dover released them with obvious reluctance. “Gaius, what is this?”

“An old book,” Gaius explained quietly. “From my days practicing magic. I do not use magic anymore, but I confess, I kept it. For sentimental reasons.”

“Sentimental reasons,” Arthur repeated with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur handed the book to the man standing beside him - Clifford, maybe? Or possibly Cooper? Leon hardly tried to remember the names of Arthur’s servants anymore, he moved through them so quickly. Whoever he was, he wrinkled his nose as he took the book, handling it as though it were covered in something unmentionable, and Arthur directed his attention to the letters.

“And these?” he asked, turning to Dover, and the man glowered at Leon.

“I haven’t read them,” he admitted. “Sir _Leon_ took them from me before I could.”

“Considering they were found with the spellbook, I thought it was worth bringing it all to you, and you could read the letters. I saw no need for all of us to go through Gaius’s private affairs.”

“As usual, you show sound judgment, Sir Leon,” Arthur said, and Dover’s scowl deepened at Arthur’s approval. “Gaius - who are these letters from?”

The old man swallowed. “A dear friend.” 

“Who?” Gaius kept silent, and Arthur sighed. “Gaius. Please.”

“They are from a friend,” Gaius repeated, and Leon knew he would not say more. But as Arthur turned his attention back to the papers in front of him, Gaius's shoulders drooped in defeat and his eyes fell shut for a moment. When he reopened them, Leon was taken aback by the depth of fear, nearly panic, he saw there.

Arthur’s mouth tightened as he unfolded the first letter, his reluctance clear on his face. But he couldn’t have read more than a few words before he shot up straight, his mouth falling open slightly. He let out a wheezing breath, as though he’d been struck in the chest.

His eyes darted away from the page, staring blankly at the ground in shock before he looked at the words in front of him again.

“Guinevere,” he said in a strangled voice. “Gwaine. Leon. Elyan. Percival. Everyone else, out.”

Several in the crowd exchanged baffled looks as they filed to the doors, glancing over their shoulders in confusion at the king and the kneeling physician. Dover lingered, then stepped boldly towards Arthur.

“Sire, given the circumstances, I believe I ought to stay as well, so I can consult-”

“ _Out!_ ” Arthur ordered again, raising his voice without bothering to look at the witchfinder. “Clark, you too. Everyone.”

Leon eyed the remaining group as the doors to the throne room slammed closed. It felt both strange and familiar. Because this had been the inner circle once, hadn’t it? Once upon a time, not that long ago, these had been Arthur’s most trusted advisors, his closest friends. All that was missing was a mouthy servant to stand beside the king.

But now, Leon couldn’t remember the last time this group had gathered.

These days, when he was with Arthur, the king seemed to make a pointed effort to keep all conversation focused on matters of state. Leon suspected it had started because he was tired of being asked whether he was okay. But the new dynamic had stuck, and their friendship had faded into something colder and more professional. The last traces of it lingered in the fact that he seemed more willing to drop his guard and lose his temper in Leon’s presence than in others'. A temper with an increasingly short fuse.

As for his friendships with the others, Leon spent much of his time training the newer knights now, and he knew Elyan and Percival had other responsibilities as well. He hadn’t been on a patrol or shared a trip to the tavern with either of them in months.

And Gwaine... well, Gwaine was only ever back in Camelot for days at a time, and spent most of that time hiding in his room with a bottle. Leon hadn’t seen the knight truly sober in over a year. And if Arthur thought no one noticed his own drunken binges when he was in town, he was very much mistaken. Some of the others whispered about it, commenting darkly on the negative influence Gwaine had on the king. But Leon saw something they missed; yes, Arthur was a mess while Gwaine was here. But once he left, Arthur - hangover aside - showed traces of his old self again. For a week or two, he’d be softer, more thoughtful, driven by compassion and justice instead of duty and fear. And then, each time, Leon would see those pieces start to fade again, see Arthur turning harder, and he’d find himself checking the horizon, hoping to spot the distant shape of Gwaine coming home.

Once the doors closed, Arthur turned his attention back to the letter, disbelief in his eyes as they traveled across the page. Then the disbelief was suddenly replaced by a furious snarl, and Arthur folded the paper and placed it at the bottom of the stack, opening the next one.

As he read, the anger abruptly vanished, replaced by shock. Arthur’s face turned pale and the paper trembled audibly in his hand. Then the shock turned to heartbreak, and a decidedly unkingly word fell from his lips.

Arthur folded that letter and moved on to the next one. Without lifting his eyes, he said, “Stand up, Gaius.”

Leon helped the old man to his feet, cringing sympathetically at the pained groan that escaped him.

When he reached the fourth letter, Arthur stood, pacing absently through the room as he read, his eyes fixated on the parchment, seemingly oblivious to the others.

The six of them watched in silence as Arthur made his way through the stack, his face a raw array of emotions as he moved through each one. He changed in an instant from pain to rage and back again, with the occasion small smile or raised eyebrow. And one or twice, he even laughed. When he reached the end of the stack, he started over again. And again. And with each pass, the gentler emotions faded, his jaw tensing and face flushing as anger became more and more dominant.

Leon shared a baffled look with Gwaine, but no one interrupted. Finally, Arthur returned to his throne, folding the last letter and placing it back in the pile, but not opening the next. He stared at the papers in his hands for several seconds, then looked up at Gaius. His cheeks remained bright, but his rage seemed to be gone, replaced with something dazed and unreadable. The physician stared back, his chin lifted despite his evident fear.

“So,” Arthur said in a rough voice, then he paused to swallow and look away. When he turned back to the old man, his voice was thick with emotion. “He lives?”

Gaius’s shoulders relaxed at the response, and a small smile crossed his face, weary and warm.

“Yes, my lord,” he confirmed softly. “He lives.”


	4. The Letters

_He did his best to keep a cheery smile on his face until the door closed fully behind him. Then he collapsed against it, letting his head fall back with a small thud. He flinched at the sound, hoping Arthur didn’t hear it from inside._

_“You idiot,” he whispered into the empty corridor._

_What had he done? Yes, he had promised himself he would make his move tomorrow. But now that he’d trapped himself into giving Arthur a bloody_ explanation _in the morning, he realized he hadn’t truly meant it. Tomorrow would have come, and he would have put it off again._

_But now what? What could he possibly tell Arthur come morning?_

_All he could do was follow through on the plan. He knew he needed to go, and this could be the push he needed._

_With a weary sigh, he shoved himself away from the door and made his way back to his room, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that Gaius was apparently out on some kind of emergency. He knew he would never be able to fool his guardian into believing everything was fine. Gaius knew him too well. And he had already made it perfectly clear what he thought of Merlin’s plan._

_He curled up on his bed, pulling the blanket over him until Gaius came home an hour later. He faced the wall and kept his breathing even as he heard him climb the stairs, doing his best to appear peacefully asleep. The pale candlelight shone into the room for a moment until Gaius was satisfied his ward had returned home safely for the day, then disappeared as he pulled the door shut._

_In a plan that was brutally painful to start with, leaving Gaius was one of the worst parts._

_Once he heard snores from the outer room, Merlin gave up pretending to sleep, kicking the blanket off and sitting on the side of his bed, his face in his hands._

_A story about Ealdor, perhaps. Maybe he could say he was worried about his mother now that she was getting older, and he felt compelled to go help her work the farm. Arthur couldn’t argue with that._

_So he’d just bring up Arthur’s breakfast like always. Talk to him about it, then find Gwen and Gwaine and say goodbye. Gaius would have to be last, once he’d already committed to his plan with the others. And then…_

_He stood up sharply, unable to finish that thought._

_He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t._

_Quietly, another idea made itself known. An idea that had been sitting patiently in the back of his mind for days now, waiting for Merlin to acknowledge it._

_It was a coward’s idea._

_But it was a possibility._

_He could leave a note and just go._

_And would it really matter? Sure, Arthur would undoubtedly be annoyed Merlin didn’t tell him himself. He’d grumble and sulk, and then he’d find a servant who wasn’t always late and who had time to actually clean his chambers instead of hiding things under the bed. Gwen would be upset, but anyone with eyes could see it was only a matter of time – and not much of it – before she finally took that step from serving girl to queen, and then she wouldn’t have much time for their friendship anyway. Besides, she would probably need to put some distance between them when the time came; she would hardly convince the nobility that she belonged in her role as queen if she kept spending her time with commoners like him. One day, maybe, it wouldn’t matter, but she’d have an uphill battle in the beginning._

_Gwaine…well, Gwaine would be angry. There was no way around that. But Merlin had watched him since he’d come to Camelot. He’d found a place here, a purpose. Despite all of his prejudices in the beginning, the man’s inherent sense of justice, combined with his astounding skill with a sword, seemed to indicate he was born to be a knight. He’d be happy here, with or without Merlin._

_And ultimately, would saying goodbye really matter to any of them? They’d all still be unhappy about it in the beginning, and they’d all still be fine with it in the end. Putting himself – putting them_ all _\- through some kind of tear-filled goodbye wouldn’t change that._

_Well, tear-filled on his part at least. Arthur certainly wouldn’t cry, and would probably make fun of him for doing so._

_Merlin froze at that thought. He had no doubt he would cry. He couldn’t walk away from the man who was his destiny and_ not _cry. And Arthur would mock him for it. It was the only way he knew how to respond to tears._

_A glare tightened Merlin’s face, because while Arthur’s mockery typically rolled right off him, he absolutely could not bear the idea of Arthur mocking his grief at leaving._

_No. The goodbyes didn’t matter anyway._

_He stood and hastily made his way to the door, determined to go before he lost his nerve. But he stopped, hitting his head lightly against it instead of opening it. A quiet curse escaped his lips as he pressed his forehead against the wood. After a moment, he turned back and sat on the bed again._

_“Don’t be a coward,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. Swallowed. He should try to sleep._

_He lay back down, pulled the blanket up again, and planned._

_He’d tell Arthur he needed to talk to him as soon as he got there in the morning. Or no, he’d wait until Arthur was dressed and eating breakfast. No need to make it seem urgent. Of course, Arthur might bring it up first, ask him what was wrong the night before. And Merlin could say he’d been worried about his mother, and he’d been thinking – no, not thinking, he’d say he’d_ decided _he needed to return to Ealdor. Arthur would probably look surprised at first, and then maybe frown. And then—_

_An abrupt surge of panic cut off the remainder of the scene, and he scrambled back to his feet and strode to the desk. Without bothering to sit, he bent over and scrawled a few hasty words, cursing himself as he did so. Returning to the bed, he smoothed the blanket out, tucking the edges under the thin mattress like Gaius always nagged him to do. Then he wiped his eyes and gathered his things, removing a staff and a carved dragon from under the loose floorboard. He put the folded piece of parchment on his pillow, then paused for a moment to reconsider and tucked it under the pillow instead._

_And then, as quietly as he could, he crept out of his room, out the door, and out of Camelot._

* * *

Gaius,

I’m sorry. I have to do it.

Tell Arthur I went to Ealdor. Don’t worry – I doubt he’ll question it or look for me.

I’ll write soon.

Take care of him for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

This is the letter I should have left in the first place. I’m sorry it’s a week late. And I’m sorry for what I did. Or for how I did it, at least. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but not for leaving. It’s been weeks now, and I can’t forget that fight. I see it over and over again in my mind, knowing what a narrow miss it was. I can’t help imagining what would have happened if I’d been even a few seconds slower in bringing that wall down. It was luck that saved Arthur’s life as much as it was my magic. And I won't be lucky forever, Gaius. I need help.

I had hoped I could help Arthur see the truth of magic, that in time his fear would fade and he'd realize there was no need to persecute those of us who wield it. But the scars from Uther’s reign run too deep. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, another sorcerer attacks. There’s too much distrust out there, too many who want vengeance, and the more attacks we face, the more firmly Arthur believes magic is inherently evil. I have done what I can to sow seeds here. I know you disagree, but I believe if I want things to change, it's time I tried to do the same with the other side.

Those who have magic need to see that Arthur doesn’t have to be their enemy. They need to know what kind of king he truly is. What kind of man he truly is. Because however misguided he may be about magic, I know he’s a good man. I believe in him – I always have. I just need them to see what I do. And for that, they have to speak with someone who knows him well and whom they have reason to trust. And you and I both know I am the only person who meets both of those requirements.

I promise, I won’t go far. Not for now, at least. Someone needs to keep an eye on the royal prat.

As for you, Gaius, I cannot put into words all of the things I want to say, besides just thank you, and I’m sorry. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have talked me out of it. It would have been easy for you to do.

I will write when I can.

Take care of Arthur for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

I finally found what I’ve been looking for - a collection of high priests of the Old Religion! They are not easy to find.

They’ve allowed me to stay with them for the past two weeks. I think they're equal parts curious and wary. They don’t believe me yet, that a Pendragon could be the Once and Future King, that Arthur could be the just and merciful and wise ruler I describe. But they respect my magic and they know the prophecies, and that’s enough to earn me an audience, and I think they're at least considering what I said. I'll stay here a few more days, and then I’ll move on. I've heard rumors of magic in a town not far from here. I'll go there next and see who I can find.

I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been thinking, you should probably get another assistant. I don’t want you working yourself to death without me there to help, and I am certain there are many in Camelot who would be eager for the opportunity to learn from you. You're a great teacher.

Take care of Arthur for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

I’m homesick. Perhaps that’s an unfair thing for me to complain about, considering how I left, but I am. I miss the sounds of Camelot, the smell of your unpredictable cooking, the camaraderie of joking with the knights. I find myself oddly disoriented by not knowing what Arthur is doing, and I worry all the time about whether he’s doing something reckless and who’s protecting him. I know the best way I can protect him right now is to do what I’m doing, but if he does something stupid and gets himself killed, I’m going to be furious.

I’m doing fine. I’ve met more people, had more conversations. I’m finding the things that impress other people are not the same things that impressed me. They want to know about his great heroic deeds, not about who he _is_. They don’t care about his excitement when I got my first battle wound, or that he bandaged it for me (very poorly, I must admit). They don’t care that he helped me with my armor when my hands were shaking before the fight in Ealdor, or that he held out his own hand, as an equal, and told me it had been an honor. But they certainly care that he disobeyed his father to get an antidote for a servant (they really like stories where he defied Uther). But in some ways that’s a relief, because those other stories are more personal anyway, and I don’t particularly like sharing them.

I miss you.

Take care of Arthur for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

You won’t believe what happened. I’m not sure I believe it yet.

I’m staying with some priests again (different ones this time), and it started pretty much the same as the others. But one man in particular seemed open to what I was saying, and we had a number of long conversations. Kind of even became friends, really. And he gave me a gift – a crystal. You know I’ve always hated crystals, but this one lets me see what’s happening in other places instead of seeing the future. Which means I can see Arthur. And I know that’s creepy, but it lets me keep an eye on him and make sure he’s safe.

I’ve been checking in on him regularly, and by some miracle he seemed to be staying out of trouble for a while. But then I saw him leaving Camelot with a group of knights, and I just had a bad feeling about it. I figured I’d better go check things out, and Gaius – the priest came with me! To protect Arthur! And sure enough, when we found him, there was a group of mercenaries just up the road, lying in wait for them. We eavesdropped for a couple of minutes, long enough to hear that it was apparently a kidnapping plot. So we took care of it, and Arthur and the knights just went right on by without ever even knowing they’d been in danger.

Gaius. A priest of the old religion fought to protect Arthur.

I’m still in shock. But maybe there’s hope after all.

Take care of him for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

I heard news of Camelot today. They say the king is to marry a serving girl, the daughter of a blacksmith. I cried harder than I’ve cried since the night I left Camelot. Arthur would have laughed at me and called me a girl. If I were there, I’d have hugged him, and he’d have called me a girl for that too, but I don’t care.

Arthur and Gwen getting married. Can you believe it? She’ll be a great queen. And he’ll be a better king with her by his side.

Also, Arthur once told me it’s a tradition for the royal couple not to travel for several months immediately following the wedding. Something to do with visiting nobles coming to wish them happiness. So maybe they’ll be just a little bit safer for a while. I had to save him from an assassination attempt when he was traveling back from Gedref last week, and trying to spot danger and get there in time is an annoyingly complicated task when I’m not actually traveling with him.

Take care of Arthur for me. (I know Gwen will try to take care of him too, but believe me, he takes a lot of looking after.)

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

I made it to the eastern part of the kingdom without complications. No one looked twice at me (I told you that you were worrying for nothing!). I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see you. To see home, even if I had to mostly keep my distance from everyone and view it as an outsider. And it was a relief to see with my own two eyes that Arthur hasn’t managed to get himself killed.

Although on my way out, I did catch someone trying to smuggle a bloody cockatrice into the castle disguised as a gift.

I have a few more stops to make, and then I think I’m going to change tactics. I’m going to start visiting the druids. They haven’t been my priority because they’re peaceful, and they already have an inkling because of the prophecies. The priests and priestesses and other sorcerers are the greater danger, and I thought I should try to reason with them first. But I’m not sure where to find any more, and the druids need to know the truth as well. If I can make them really believe, perhaps they will help others with magic see the truth.

It’s kind of fun, sometimes, telling stories about Arthur. It’s nice to think about the good times. He really _is_ a good king, isn’t he? An absolute dollophead, of course, but a good king.

Take care of him for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

Great news - the druids have been far more receptive than the others I’ve spoken with! Well, “receptive” might be a strong word, because they’re definitely still terrified of Arthur. But they are not a vengeful people, so their terror is mixed with hope rather than hate. I’m not sure how much they believe me, but they’ve listened and they’re asking questions.

We’ve also spent a lot of time discussing magic, and they’ve taught me a great deal. I might have more power, but they have so much knowledge! You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve learned, including healing magic. I still have no aptitude for it, but I have a great deal more skill with it now. It’s bittersweet though, because I’ll learn a new spell and think about how useful it will be the next time we’re ambushed on patrol, and then I’ll remember I don’t go on patrols anymore.

I hope everyone is staying safe without me.

I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but next time I do, I’ll have to show you some of what I learned. I think you’d like it.

Take care of Arthur for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius,

I heard news of Camelot again today. They say the king has hired a witchfinder to track down a sorcerer who has intimate knowledge of his kingdom. I don’t know what concerns me more - this sorcerer, or the idea that Arthur hired a witchfinder after what happened with Aredian. Has he lost his mind?

I’m going to start heading back that way, just in case this sorcerer is trouble. I want to be close in case I need to step in.

Take care of Arthur for me.

Merlin

* * *

Gaius, 

I got more information about the sorcerer and witchfinder situation. Apparently I’m the sorcerer he’s looking for.

That prat. I tell people he’s a great king, and he hires a bloody witchfinder. What an ass.

I’m planning on staying with the druids for a while. I’m finally making real progress. They told me a story of something that happened a couple of weeks ago – some druids from one of the camps I visited a few months ago had sneaked into Camelot to gather supplies, and while they were there, they overheard something about a plot against Arthur. A sorcerer was trying to do a mind-control enchantment on one of the knights entering the tournament (gods, I wish he would stop doing tournaments). The druids intervened, reversing the enchantment before the knight even knew anything had happened.

Gaius, I am so tired. I thought I was tired before I left, but now I’m trying to save Arthur all the time _and_ I’m traveling all over the place. And it’s terrifying, because I’m sure I’m going to miss something. But now, finally… I think I have help.

Maybe things really are changing. I just hope Arthur can see it.

Although he hired a witchfinder, so maybe not.

Take care of him for me. Even if he is a prat.

Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first sat down to start writing this story, I was really excited to get to this chapter. I thought it would be so much fun to do. I have now learned that although I enjoy reading epistolary stories, I do not think I enjoy writing them. No dialogue, no characters interacting. Just...drying to dress up exposition to make it look like it's not exposition. Blergh. I'm excited to get back to more traditional storytelling next chapter! 
> 
> Also, my apologies to those of you who faithfully believed Merlin must have had a really good reason for leaving without saying goodbye. Poor guy just panicked. :( But he's both an emotional and an impulsive person, so I can see it happening, even if he'd regret it afterwards...


	5. Emrys and the Once and Future King (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... extremely sad news that doesn't really affect anyone but me. I accidentally hit post on this chapter instead of saving the draft. Then, in a flurry of urgency, I deleted it (after making sure I still had all of my work). But... it turned out I deleted chapter one instead of this one. I've reposted it, but the sad part is that I lost all of my comments. But thank you to everyone who commented on it and supported this story from the beginning - I appreciate each and every one of you so much!
> 
> This chapter is a two-parter because it is massive. I do have some real-life obligations this weekend, so there might be a delay in part two going up, but I'll do my best to get it out quickly if I can!

“It’s all right,” Arthur said, holding up a hand placatingly. He’d drawn his sword when they heard someone moving through the trees, but now he slowly slid it back into the sheath. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The young boy stood motionless, his eyes remaining on the sword even after Arthur removed his hand from the hilt.

“Do you know who I am?” Arthur asked gently, and the boy nodded.

“You’re Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot,” he said in a scratchy voice.

“That’s right. And I mean you no harm. Truly.”

The boy finally lifted his eyes from the sword to glance at Arthur, then at each of the knights behind him.

“Why are you here?” he asked, and Arthur respected the way he feigned a courage he clearly didn’t feel.

“I’ve come to seek an audience with the man you call Emrys," Arthur said carefully, then he fought a grin, his heart leaping as he spotted the look in the boy’s eye.

Gwaine’s source was right. _Merlin was here._

The boy swallowed nervously. “Are you going to hurt him?”

“I only want to talk to him,” Arthur assured him.

But he didn’t promise he wouldn’t hurt him. He did want to talk, but Merlin would still be lucky if the king didn’t fasten him to a wall and use him for target practice.

The boy reluctantly led them back to the druid camp, where they were quickly intercepted by several frightened adults. After many more promises and assurances that they meant no harm to any of the druids, they were finally allowed to sit and wait.

“Emrys left a few hours ago,” a short man named Iwan told them. “He should be back shortly.” He didn’t say where he’d gone.

And it was strange, wasn’t it, that after so long, this - these final few minutes - felt the longest? Arthur fidgeted and craned his head around, wondering which direction Merlin would approach from. He questioned, as he had questioned periodically over the last month, if he might be wrong. If Merlin _wasn’t_ Emrys, and this was just the strangest set of coincidences ever. After all, Gaius had refused to confirm it one way or the other.

But then he remembered the visiting druids retelling stories only a few people would know, and his mind ran through Gaius’s letters again. He had them nearly memorized, feeling only slightly guilty about reading and rereading words that were never meant for him in the first place.

But any time that guilt reared its head, the anger that inevitably came on its heels thoroughly obliterated it.

It was almost a relief when the water from the journey caught up with him and nature called. He excused himself from the group, traipsing off into the nearby woods. He was on his way back when he heard it: the sound of someone moving through the trees.

He moved more quietly than he used to. It was possible the people back in Camelot _couldn’t_ hear him, which would certainly be a change. And yet, Arthur somehow still recognized the sound of his steps.

He pulled his sword out slowly enough to keep it silent, and eased his way closer.

Merlin never saw him coming.

* * *

Merlin could appreciate the irony. After so many years of complaining about hunts, he had to go and live a nomadic lifestyle where hunting became a necessity. He could forage, of course, but man could not live off berries and nuts alone. In the past year and a half, he’d gotten quite good at catching smaller prey, like hares and squirrels. There was no need to catch stags or boars; he’d never be able to carry that much meat.

The people he visited typically offered to feed him, and he accepted to an extent. But he didn’t want to strain their hospitality, and it didn’t feel right to take food and shelter without giving _something_ in return.

He’d taken a little longer on the hunt today, but he’d enjoyed the time alone outside. Although the pain of missing Camelot still felt like a tangible hole in his chest, he could appreciate living in nature instead of in a city. The trees around him, the stealthy movement of the animals, the buzzing of the bugs – there was magic in all of it, and it helped him feel whole again.

He never heard the footsteps approaching from the side. Never saw the glint of sun on steel. He was entirely unprepared when the hilt of a sword slammed firmly into his chest, knocking him off balance. Half a second later, he felt a hit on the back of his legs as his feet were swept out from under him, and he landed hard on his back, coughing from the impact.

His hand automatically went to the sword at his hip, but he froze quickly as the tip of a blade came to rest against his chest. He pulled on his magic, prepared to fling his attacker away from him, when he looked up and saw a familiar pair of blue eyes glaring down at him, the sunlight filtering through the trees to shine brightly off blond hair.

Merlin swallowed. He knew those eyes well, and in all the years he’d known them, he couldn’t remember ever seeing them quite so angry. At least, not when directed at him.

“Hello, Merlin,” his king said, the lightness of his voice incongruous with the coldness of his expression.

Merlin couldn’t keep from staring. It had been a year since he’d seen Arthur up close, and at the sight of his face, joy and relief and homesickness all mixed together and hit him like a wave.

“Hi.” He smiled despite himself, even as fear at Arthur’s expression churned his stomach. He’d hoped to see Arthur again one day, but he’d never imagined this kind of fury in his eyes at their reunion.

“Fancy meeting you here. In the woods. Alive. Seemingly in perfect health.”

“It’s good to see you?” Merlin meant it wholeheartedly, but it came out more as a question than a statement.

Instead of answering, Arthur reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a stack of folded papers, bound together with string. He flung them to the ground next to Merlin’s head with a force that made the sorcerer flinch. Turning his head, he recognized Gaius’s name written in his own scrawl.

Oh gods.

His letters.

In which he was pretty sure he’d admitted to having magic. How much had he said about it? How much did Arthur know?

Suddenly the sword at his chest made a lot more sense.

“Do you know what those are?” Arthur asked tightly, nodding to the papers, and Merlin took a shaky breath.

“My letters to Gaius,” he admitted weakly, scrambling to come up with some kind of defense, some kind of explanation Arthur would understand.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur answered. “Your letters to Gaius. Or as I think of them, evidence you know how to use parchment and a quill.”

Merlin’s next words died on his lips, and he stared at the king in confusion. “Evidence...what?”

“A year and a half, Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice rising in volume as he jabbed him sharply in the chest with his sword. “We searched for you for _eighteen months_!” _Jab._ “Do you have _any…”_ jab “…idea?” _Jab._ “You selfish…” _jab_ “…irresponsible…” _jab_ “… _idiot!”_ Arthur’s voice had risen to a true shout now, and he dug the sword in a final time, harder than all the rest, making Merlin let out a squeak of pain.

“Arthur!” he cried. “That _hurts!_ ”

Somehow, his protest managed to enrage the furious king even more.

“Oh, it _hurts_ , does it?” he demanded, continuing to prod him with the sword. “That must be _terrible_ , Merlin, for it to _hurt._ Heaven knows I would never want to subject you to something _painful!_ How _awful_ that must be for you!”

Merlin tried to squirm back during Arthur’s short speech, but the sword just followed him, poking over and over again.

“Arthur,” a voice drawled from nearby. “Careful. I think you broke the skin.”

Merlin’s head whipped around to see Gwaine leaning against a tree, watching, along with a couple of frightened druids who seemed to be debating whether or not to step in. He grinned with relief at the knight’s interference, and Gwaine smiled in response.

But it wasn’t a friendly smile. No, this was a wolfish smile. The kind of expression Gwaine typically wore just before tearing a tavern to pieces in a spectacular brawl.

Merlin’s stomach flipped at having that smile aimed at him, and his own grin fell.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Merlin?” Arthur asked, demanding Merlin return his focus to him. Merlin shook his head nervously, although he noted with gratitude that Arthur had pulled the sword back several inches.

“I’m going to kill you.”

He tried to hold Arthur’s gaze, but he couldn’t help closing his eyes against that statement. So this was it. All these years of helping and sneaking and protecting and hiding, and it all ended with—

“Then I’m going to have one of your new friends with magic bring you back from the dead,” Arthur continued, interrupting those thoughts, and Merlin's eyes flew open again.

“That’s... not really how it works,” he said automatically, staring at the king in confusion.

“Then I’m going to kill you again,” Arthur continued as though Merlin hadn’t spoken.

A distracted part of Merlin’s mind noted that this plan seemed awfully illogical. And inefficient.

“Then I’m going to have them bring you back to life again. And _then_ do you know what I’m going to do?” Arthur’s scowl spread into a satisfied smile that made Merlin’s heart race with apprehension. He waited until Merlin shook his head to continue. “Then I’m going to make you explain to _Guinevere_ why you missed our wedding.”

Then...what?

That wasn’t at all what Merlin had expected. But the flash of relief was short-lived as he tried to actually imagine that conversation with Gwen.

“Can’t you just kill me a third time?” he asked uncertainly, and Arthur’s smile grew.

“Oh no,” he said. “No, you have no idea how painful it was not to have you there. To think you were dead. For Guinevere, I mean. So you get to explain that to her yourself.”

Merlin took a deep breath, touching his chest lightly. When he pulled his hand away, there was only a tiny smudge of blood on it. Looking down, he realized the cut was actually nothing more than a shallow scratch, although his shirt had pretty much been destroyed. Still, the scratch stung, and he rubbed it thoughtlessly as he tried to wrap his flummoxed mind around what was happening. He’d expected Arthur to be angry when he one day learned the truth, but everything about this felt off.

Arthur took a step back, finally lowering his sword. In a moment, all the anger seemed to deflate out of him, leaving behind a man who looked older and wearier than Merlin remembered. “Eighteen months,” he repeated. “You disappeared for eighteen months, Merlin. Just vanished in the middle of the night. No word. No explanation. No _letters_. Just gone, and then Gaius saying you’d gone to Ealdor. Which you hadn’t. We thought you were dead. I-” he broke off, looking away for a moment and swallowing before fixing his gaze back on Merlin. “ _I_ thought you were dead. Or you could be, at least.”

Merlin’s hand froze. “Wait - what?” he asked, taken aback. “ _That’s_ what you’re angry about?” Suddenly he remembered something Gaius had told him during his brief visit to Camelot, something about Arthur not handling Merlin’s absence particularly well. He’d thought the older man had been exaggerating in his efforts to persuade Merlin to come home.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You think I shouldn’t be?”

His tone had a dangerous edge, and Merlin had a feeling if he said yes, he might actually get a sword through his chest. But he didn’t mean he thought Arthur shouldn’t be angry about how he left. He just didn’t really think that would be the foremost issue on the king’s mind.

“Did you read the letters?” he asked hesitantly, and Arthur’s knuckles turned white around the hilt of the sword.

“Oh yes,” he growled. “I read the letters. I especially liked the part where you said I wouldn’t look for you. Oh, and when you apparently came back to Camelot and didn’t tell anyone? That was certainly a highlight. I had a search party out while you were apparently wandering the halls of my own castle!”

“Arthur,” Merlin said slowly, still confused, and his next sentence escaped him without thinking. “The letters - I mean, you know I have magic, right?” Had Arthur somehow not realized? Merlin was sure he’d been pretty blunt - he’d magicked the letters straight into Gaius’s chambers, so he hadn’t worried about them being intercepted, hadn’t bothered being cryptic or vague. And yet, Arthur didn’t seem to understand.

“Oh, believe me, we’ll get to that,” Arthur snapped. “We’re going to talk all about magic and your secret identity as Emrys and about _all_ of the lies you told. We’ll get there. But we’re not rushing through this part.”

Merlin frowned, trying to understand. “You’re angrier about me leaving than you are about the magic?”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, then took a step back. He did his signature sword twirl, as though he were considering skewering Merlin, but then he sheathed the blade instead.

“Get up,” he ordered, and Merlin scrambled to his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gwaine and the druids slip into the woods, apparently willing to give them privacy now that Arthur had put his sword away.

The king stepped toward him, and it took all of Merlin’s willpower not to take a step back in return. But he swallowed and stood his ground as he came nearer.

Arthur studied his face for a long minute, arms crossed and his jaw ticking with some emotion Merlin couldn’t identify. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but Merlin did his best not to blink or look away. Finally, Arthur spoke.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin did blink at that. “What?”

Arthur said the words softly, a disorienting switch from the yelling. “Are you all right?” he repeated. “Are you injured? Ill? In any kind of trouble?”

Oh. Arthur was...concerned?

Merlin shook his head, baffled. “No, Arthur. I’m fine." 

The king nodded and let out a slow exhale. “All right.” He ran a hand over his face, thinking for a moment. Then he said, yet again, “Eighteen months, Merlin. You let me wonder if you were dead for a bloody year and a half.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said automatically, still bemused by the whole thing. “I didn’t...I mean, I thought—"

“You thought I wouldn’t care,” Arthur interrupted flatly, and Merlin looked away. “You thought I wouldn’t even bother to look for you.”

“I mean, I knew you might send out a patrol or two if you found out I wasn’t in Ealdor,” he admitted. “But I didn’t really think you’d check on me. And I didn’t think you’d _search_.” He hesitated, nervous to ask his next question. Nothing about this conversation was going the way he would have imagined, and he wasn’t sure what might set Arthur off. “Why _did_ you search for me?”

Arthur stared, dumbfounded. “Why did I search for you?” he repeated. “After all these years, you’re seriously asking me that? Merlin, I told you the night before you left how much I valued your friendship!”

Merlin considered that for a moment. He remembered every second of that conversation - the one he thought might be his last with Arthur - and he was sure there had been no mention of friendship.

“No, actually, you- you turnip-headed _clotpole_!" he exclaimed as he figured it out, his face warming with indignation. “What you _said_ was that you didn’t keep me around for my polishing skills! _Not_ the same thing!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You knew what I meant.” He paused then, something seeming to click. “You knew what I meant?” he repeated, but this time it was a question.

Merlin shifted uneasily. He’d thought he'd known what Arthur meant. He thought he meant that he kept Merlin because he liked him. That he enjoyed his company. That he was grateful for his loyalty, and maybe even felt some degree of loyalty in return.

He didn’t think he meant he _valued his friendship_.

He certainly didn’t think he meant he’d search for a year and a half to find him.

“Gods, Merlin, you’re such a girl!” Arthur cried in exasperation, correctly reading his silence. “I didn’t know you needed me to write you a love letter and give you a hug!”

“You’re an adult, Arthur,” Merlin retorted. “If you have something to say, you should use your words and say it. How am I supposed to guess what you’re thinking?”

“I’m sorry for underestimating just how much of an idiot you are! I…” Arthur bit off the words, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was tight, but controlled. “I thought you knew. I thought you knew what I meant.”

Arthur’s calmer voice cooled Merlin’s frustration as well, leaving guilt and regret in its place. “I knew you’d notice I was gone. I hoped you might even miss me. But I swear, Arthur, I didn’t think…” Merlin trailed off. “But I had to go. I couldn’t keep trying to defend you singlehandedly against every person with magic and a grudge in Camelot! I was almost too late that last time. It was only a matter of time before I _was_ too late.”

Arthur stared for a moment, then shook his head as though trying to shake a thought off. “I’m not angry because you _left_ , Merlin. I’m angry because you left without saying anything! You could have lied, if you were so determined to keep all your secrets - said you wanted to travel, said you missed living in the country instead of the city. Said _something!_ And I might not have been happy about it, but I wouldn’t have had to wonder.”

Merlin closed his eyes, flinching at the anguish in Arthur’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. But this time, he understood what he was apologizing for, and he meant it. “I never intended to hurt you, Arthur. Honest. And I _was_ going to make up a story. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye.”

The look on Arthur’s face - bitterness and betrayal and hurt, all mixed together - sent a stabbing pain through Merlin.

“And I - _we_ \- couldn’t bear the last year and a half,” he answered quietly. “But you didn’t give us that choice.”

Merlin nodded, accepting the reprimand. The two stood in silence for a long moment that stretched on until it became awkward. Then Merlin blurted, “I've missed you.”

Arthur let out a choked laugh and cleared his throat, blinking several times. “You’re such a girl, Merlin,” he said gruffly, ruffling his hair and shoving him back toward the druid camp in one move. “Come on. It’s time to face the music. Guinevere is waiting.”

* * *

Druid women weren’t normally Gwaine’s type, but he couldn’t deny Efa was charming and lovely. And there were worse ways to pass the time than some idle flirting. Besides, it was a pleasant distraction from the complicated emotions sitting in his stomach at the thought of seeing Merlin again. Seeing his friend, alive and unharmed and hopefully happy. His selfless friend who had acted more selfishly than Gwaine ever could have imagined possible.

He was partway through a joke, about to tell the slightly dirty punchline, when the sound of yelling broke through the low background noise of camp activity.

“We searched for you for _eighteen months_!”

Gwaine jumped to his feet, his head swinging in the direction of the sound.

Merlin was here.

“He sounds angry,” Efa whispered. She’d leapt to her feet as well, as had Iwan.

“The king swore he wouldn’t harm him,” Iwan said nervously. “He said he only wanted to talk.”

Arthur most certainly had not sworn that he would not harm him. Gwaine knew this for a fact, because he had paid careful attention, listening for that exact thing. He might have implied it, but he had promised nothing.

Gwaine suspected that before all was said and done, Arthur was going to give Merlin the beating of a lifetime.

And if he escaped a beating from Arthur, he’d certainly find one waiting from Gwaine.

“You selfish, irresponsible _idiot!"_

“Arthur!” a painfully familiar voice cried. “That _hurts!"_

Iwan took off toward the sound, an alarmed look on his face, and Gwaine hurried after him, Efa close on his heels.

And there, only a few yards into the trees, stood Arthur, hovering over a thin form, holding a sword to his chest.

Well...stabbing a sword into his chest, actually. Repeatedly. Only a little bit, but still.

“Oh, it _hurts_ , does it?” Arthur snapped. ““That must be _terrible_ , Merlin, for it to _hurt._ Heaven knows I would never want to subject you to something _painful!_ How _awful_ that must be for you!"

Gwaine grabbed Iwan’s arm, pulling him to a stop before he could intervene. But when he saw beads of red poking through the rips in Merlin’s blue shirt, he spoke up.

“Arthur,” he called. “Careful. I think you broke the skin.”

Gwaine had really been thinking more of a _verbal_ beating. He couldn’t very well let the king actually kill the little runt. Not that he thought for a moment that Arthur actually would.

Merlin turned at the sound of his voice, his face lighting up as he spotted him, and Gwaine felt a swell of relief that was nearly painful, like blood rushing back into numb fingers. And immediately on the heels of that relief, he felt a surge of rage.

Merlin must have seen it, because his eyes widened and his smile faltered.

Iwan relaxed a bit beside him as Arthur took a step back, moving his sword away from Merlin, although he kept it pointed at him. Gwaine loosened his grip on the man, but he didn’t let go.

“We should give them privacy,” he murmured. He didn’t want to; he wanted to hear every word of Merlin’s explanations and excuses. But when he and Merlin had it out later, he knew he didn’t want any witnesses, and he would grant Arthur the same courtesy.

“Are you sure they’ll be okay?” the man whispered back worriedly, and Gwaine tried to hold back a smirk as he heard Arthur repeatedly threatening Merlin’s life.

“They’ll be fine,” he assured the man. “I promise.”

Iwan lingered a moment more, not allowing Gwaine to usher him and Efa away until Arthur sheathed his sword.

“He seemed really angry,” Efa said uneasily as they returned to camp, and Gwaine snorted.

“Oh, this might be the angriest I’ve ever seen him,” he agreed easily. “And Merlin deserves every inch of it.”

“You’re angry with him too,” Efa realized.

“Damn right, I am.”

Gwaine retook his seat next to Leon, who gave him an inquisitive look.

“Any bloodshed?” he asked casually.

Gwaine realized even with calmer voices, Arthur and Merlin were still mostly audible. And although most of the druids tried to pretend to be busy, everyone remained quiet, straining to hear the conversation.

“Only a few drops,” he said. “Nothing that will scar, and nothing Arthur will regret.”

The knights exchanged dry and bitter smiles at that as the druids tensed in alarm.

The words “turnip-headed clotpole” drifted into the camp, and Gwaine couldn’t help chuckling, the unexpected burst of amusement cutting straight through his anger.

“Are they always like this?” Efa asked in a hushed voice, sending another worried glance towards the woods where the two were arguing.

“Yes,” Gwaine said with a smile.

“Always,” Elyan agreed.

She gave them a puzzled look that was mirrored by many of the druids around them.

“The prophecies…” she said hesitantly. “They say Emrys and the Once and Future King will be like two sides of a single coin.”

Gwaine thought for a moment. “I can see that,” he said. “A dysfunctional coin, for sure. But yes, I can see that.”

He’d known Merlin and Arthur for so many years, their bickering and inept communication no longer fazed him. In fact, his world felt much more stable now, listening to them argue.

But the druids...he had a hard time not laughing at the bafflement on their faces.

It would seem their legendary sorcerer and prophesied king did not live up to their expectations.

“Don’t worry,” Leon said encouragingly to Iwan, who looked slightly ill. “I think the fighting is a good sign.”

Gwaine realized Merlin and Arthur’s voices had faded away, and a moment later, footsteps crunching through the leaves announced their approach.

Merlin hesitated as he reached the outskirts of the camp, his eyes seeking out the group from Camelot. When he saw the four knights waiting for him, he swallowed nervously. Arthur gave him a shove from behind, propelling him towards the group.

“Say hello, Merlin,” he ordered, “and then pack your things. We ride in ten minutes.”

* * *

Merlin really wasn’t sure which part of the whole thing was more awkward. The cold reception he received from the knights, or the way the entire camp of druids watched every moment of the tense reunion.

The knights didn’t look hostile, exactly. Just not friendly. A little stand-offish. Hard stares instead of smiles.

All right, he admitted to himself. The knights looked angry. But not as angry as Arthur. No one drew their sword on him, at least, although Gwaine looked like he might be considering it.

Suddenly Arthur’s words clicked, along with the realization that Gwen wasn't among the group. Merlin turned towards him, only to find Arthur had already walked away, heading toward a group of horses tied at the other side of the clearing. “Wait, pack my things? Arthur…"

A firm hand clamped on his shoulder before he could say any more, and Leon’s voice spoke low in his ear.

“Merlin, I swear, if you’re about to propose that we return to Camelot without you, I will knock you unconscious and tie you to a horse myself.”

Merlin turned to frown at him. “I’m not done yet—" he began, and Leon’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Take a break. And then if you need to go galivanting across the kingdom again, you and Arthur can work that out. But I swear by the gods, Merlin, you are not leaving us alone with him again without warning.”

The steely look in his eye told Merlin he meant what he said about knocking him unconscious, and Merlin tensed under his hand.

“Am I under arrest, Leon?” he asked, lowering his voice so the druids couldn’t hear.

The knight’s face softened and his grasp loosened before he removed his hand from his shoulder. “No, Merlin. The king does need to speak with Emrys, but that’s not why Arthur took off like a hound out of hell once we got word of where you were. We made the ride in under three hours, I think,” he added with a small laugh. “But he hasn’t said a word about the law or arrests since he saw those letters. I think right now, he just wants to be sure you’re okay and to show the queen you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin confirmed automatically. “But I have things I need to do out here, Leon. I left for a reason.”

“Take a break,” Leon urged again. Pausing, he stepped closer. “I know you have things to do as Emrys. To protect Arthur, apparently,” he said with a wry smile. “But unless I’m mistaken, you were always his friend as well, not just his guardian.” He raised his eyebrows and waited until Merlin nodded. “Then as his friend, come back for a few weeks. Give him a chance to see and accept that _his_ friend is okay. Please.”

Merlin looked across the camp at Arthur. Even from here, he could see bags under the king’s eyes. With a sigh, he gave in and went to collect his things from his tent.

He wasn’t surprised when Iwan followed him in, a concerned look on his face.

“Emrys?” he asked gently, then paused, seeming unsure how to proceed before blurting, “ _That’s_ the Once and Future King?”

A genuine smile made its way across Merlin’s face. “Yes, Iwan,” he said, and the druid’s frown deepened at the warmth in his voice. “That’s the Once and Future King.” He understood the bewilderment in his new friend’s eyes, so he paused to try to collect his thoughts.

He’d spent months trying to explain Arthur, king of Camelot, to people. But he’d never had to try to explain Arthur, his friend, before.

“Everything I told you was true,” he said slowly. “About who he is. He loves the people of Camelot, and he would do anything for them, including give up his own life.”

“He didn’t treat you with respect,” Iwan argued tentatively, and Merlin couldn’t help letting out a laugh at that.

Because Arthur never had treated him with respect, had he? Not in a way that was perceptible to the outside world, at least. But he and Merlin had always shown their respect for each other in unconventional ways. 

“Do you remember when the dorocha came?” he asked, and Iwan shuddered.

“Couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

Merlin told the story slowly, trying to articulate the small action that encapsulated so much.

“We were in the castle a couple of nights after they first appeared, and I was helping Arthur prepare for bed. I was his manservant,” he added in response to Iwan’s puzzled look, trying not to laugh when the druid looked even more bemused at that revelation. “That’s how I first came to know him. That night, I dropped a candle, and it rolled away to where the curtains were moving in the breeze, and I…” he trailed off, his blood cold as he remembered how impotent he had felt against the spirits who were immune to his magic. “I was too terrified to pick it up. I know it was cowardly, but I was truly paralyzed with fear.”

“We were all terrified,” Iwan acknowledged, and Merlin gave him a grateful smile.

“Anyway, Arthur mocked me for it. But he also went over and pulled the curtain back so I could see there was nothing there, even though he was just as frightened as I was. He might make fun of me and not respect me with his words, but when it comes to actions, he is selfless and brave and honorable.”

“And then when a dorocha _actually_ came, Merlin leapt in front of it like an idiot to protect me,” a voice said from the doorway, making both men jump with surprise. “You haven’t even started packing, have you?” Arthur added, shaking his head as he walked in. “I see some things haven’t changed. You’re just as useless as ever.”

“Working on it, sire,” Merlin said hurriedly, locating his bag and stuffing clothes into it. He caught Iwan’s eye and grinned to show he wasn’t offended by the king’s words, but the druid still looked confused as he made his way out of the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a number of comments about people looking forward to seeing everyone's reactions, and I know I robbed you of that. :( I liked the idea of jumping straight to the meeting between Merlin and Arthur. That being said, I do have a scene I deleted that immediately follows chapter three that shows some of the aftermath, although it focuses mostly on Arthur. If there's interest, I'm happy to post it!
> 
> Regarding Merlin's story about the dorocha and the candle, I recently watched that episode again, and that scene really struck me. I ended up rewinding it and watching it like five times, because it was such the ultimate big brother moment from Arthur. Like, "Haha, you're scared of the monster under the bed. But don't worry, because I'll check and make sure the monster isn't there, even though I am also scared of the monster." And I'd never thought much about that scene before, but it just got me right in the feels this time around.


	6. Emrys and the Once and Future King (Part Two)

Merlin didn’t own much; after all, he had to travel light by necessity, given how much he’d moved around. So it only took him a few minutes to load up and meet the knights back at the horses. He realized with surprise they’d brought six, and one of them was the sweet mare Merlin had always ridden when he used to travel with them.

“You were awfully confident I’d be coming back with you, weren’t you?” he asked, pleased as he stroked the horse’s nose. To his surprise, no one smiled or looked sheepish in response. Instead, they looked rather grim as they all mounted.

“Don’t poke fun,” Elyan said in a voice low enough the others couldn’t hear. “After all the searches that came back empty, you have no idea how difficult that act of hope was for them.” His eyes darted to Arthur and Gwaine, and Merlin swallowed and nodded, understanding.

They rode in awkward silence for several minutes, until Merlin thought the quiet might drive him mad. Arthur and Gwaine stayed at the front of the group, neither of them sparing a glance backwards once they were on their way. The others rode around Merlin, as though he might be a flight risk. He caught a furtive glance or two in his direction and tried not to squirm under the attention.

What happened to the knights he had known, who joked and teased each other?

What happened to the Gwaine he had known, who couldn’t go five minutes without talking?

Merlin was beginning to get an unpleasant sense that this strangeness was not exclusively due to the knights’ anger at him. Something had changed in his absence.

When the turrets of home came into view, his heart gave a lurch that he thought was excitement at first. But after only a moment, he recognized the fear for what it was, and he unthinkingly drew his horse to a stop.

“Merlin?” Leon asked inquisitively, and Arthur and Gwaine looked over their shoulders at him. The king studied him for a moment before a mirthless smile crossed his lips.

“You’re right to be afraid of Guinevere,” he said dryly. “She’s quite terrifying when she’s angry.”

Merlin forced himself to nod, his eyes fixed on the gate into the city. The bars of the gate conjured thoughts of the cells in the dungeons, and he tried to shake the image from his head. Taking an unsteady breath, he prepared to nudge the horse into motion again, but Arthur spoke before he could.

“Go ahead,” he said to the rest of the group, pulling his own horse back even with Merlin’s. “We’ll catch up.”

They sat in silence as the others made their way down the road, Merlin still staring into the distance while Arthur watched him.

“You know, Merlin,” he said once the others were out of earshot, “you choose the strangest moments to show fear. When we’re facing deadly beasts or impossible battles, you hardly blink an eye. But right now, there’s no threat in sight, and you’re even paler than usual and you’re quivering like a hunted rabbit.”

“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Merlin asked around the knot in his throat.

“I’m not the one with the long history of lying.”

Merlin ignored the barb, aside from noting it sounded curiously devoid of venom. “If I walk through that gate,” he asked quietly, “will I ever walk out again?”

Arthur looked at him curiously. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Merlin’s eyes broke from the gate for just a second or two to look at the king. He took in the furrowed brow, the tilted head. Arthur genuinely didn’t know.

“Seventeen,” Merlin said, turning his gaze back, and Arthur let out a noisy sigh.

“Are you just going to talk nonsense, or are you going to explain your question?”

“That’s how many sorcerers I’ve watched die in the courtyard,” Merlin clarified, and Arthur drew in a sharp breath. “Seventeen. Ten burnings. Six beheadings. One hanging. And that doesn’t even count people like Gwen’s father, who didn’t live long enough to see a formal execution.”

It took Arthur a moment to find words. “Merlin,” he spluttered. “Do you honestly think we tore this kingdom apart looking for you, and then I rode out to bring you home _myself_ , only to have you executed?”

He didn’t. Not _really_. As angry as Arthur seemed to be with him, the king had appeared strangely unconcerned with Merlin’s magic thus far. But at the same time, sorcery was punishable by death in Camelot, and he’d said nothing about what he intended to do with Merlin.

Well, almost nothing.

“You said you were going to kill me,” he reminded him, and Arthur let out a loud huff.

“I didn’t mean it literally, you idiot!” he exclaimed. But in the silence that followed, understanding seemed to fall over him, and he sighed. “All right, it was a poor choice of words,” Arthur conceded. They sat in silence for a moment, both staring at the city before them. Then Arthur clenched his jaw, and when he spoke, it was in an even, stoic voice, his tone and his face betraying no emotions.

“The first day you were gone, I was annoyed. I mean, it wasn’t the first time you’d ever just not shown up for work. You did it with appalling frequency, in fact. I complained to Gaius, but other than that, I hardly thought about it. When you didn’t show up the second day, I was irritated. I thought enough was enough, and I had been plenty lenient, and maybe some quality time in the stocks would sober you up and give you time to think about your priorities. So I sent Gwaine out to search the taverns and bring you home.” Arthur let out a small snort. “He was surprised by the order. He insisted taverns weren’t really your thing, although I thought he was just covering for you. But he searched, and he confirmed that not only were you not at any of the taverns, but none of the barmaids even knew you. That was the first sign, I suppose. The first time I started to realize there was something more going on, something I didn’t understand.”

“I don’t know why Gaius always used the tavern as an excuse,” Merlin grumbled. “He could just say I was picking herbs. It would be harder for you to disprove, and it wouldn’t have made me look like a lazy lout.”

“Had you ever actually _looked_ at my chambers after you supposedly finished ‘cleaning’ them?” Arthur said dismissively. “You would have looked like a lazy lout regardless.”

Merlin scowled, but the amused smile quickly faded from Arthur’s face.

“By the third day, even Gaius was worried,” he said softly, picking up the story. “We sent out a search party. I thought maybe you’d fallen into a ditch or gotten lost in the woods or something. I _hoped_ you had. I tried to tell myself that your bizarre behavior that last night was unrelated. And then…” he let out a humorless chuckle. “Then things got weird. After a few days of searching, Gaius came to me and said he’d just remembered you had talked about going back to Ealdor. He said he was certain that was where you’d gone, and we had nothing to worry about. Which would have been a perfectly believable story a week before, but was bizarre at best coming when it did. I couldn’t understand how Gaius had gone from half-mad with worry to seeming completely calm, if somewhat annoyed, literally overnight.”

Merlin groaned. “It took him a _week_ to find the letter?”

“Perhaps next time you leave a note for someone to find, you should put it in a place where they’ll actually _see_ it,” Arthur said tartly. “He said you left it _under your pillow?_ ”

So Gaius had actually told Arthur his version of the story. That was encouraging; it meant Gaius had trusted Arthur enough to tell him, and Arthur had actually listened.

“Sometimes when I was late in the morning, you’d come looking for me before Gaius would,” he said defensively. “I didn’t want to risk you finding the note first. But I thought he would check!”

“Why in the world would Gaius check under your pillow? What kind of plan was that?” Arthur demanded in exasperation, and Merlin felt his cheeks flush.

“It wasn’t exactly a plan,” he muttered.

“Anyway,” Arthur pressed on, rolling his eyes, “Gaius said you’d gone to Ealdor. And we were all relieved. Confused, but relieved. But we—that is, Gwaine thought someone should go to Ealdor, just to check and make sure you made it there safely. And of course, Hunith saw him coming and panicked, because why would a knight of Camelot come to Ealdor, without you in tow, unless they were bringing some kind of terrible news?”

Merlin cringed at the image Arthur painted. His mother must have been terrified.

“So you weren’t in Ealdor, obviously, and your mother knew nothing about it, so she came back to Camelot with Gwaine. But the very next day, she said she was going back home, just in case you showed up there. She seemed completely calm, and I thought, ‘Ah, this is how Merlin learned to be a rock when everything seems like it’s going to hell.’ But in hindsight, it’s clear she just talked to Gaius and knew you were fine.” He paused to eye Merlin. “I assume your mother knows, after all. About your magic?”

The last word fell naturally off Arthur’s tongue, but Merlin froze out of instinct. He had to swallow before he could answer.

“She knows,” he confirmed. “She’s known since I was a baby.”

That broke through Arthur’s carefully crafted calm. “A baby?” he echoed in alarm, and Merlin nodded.

“I was born with magic.”

Merlin watched cautiously as Arthur turned pale. Apparently Gaius hadn’t shared that detail.

“A baby,” Arthur repeated again under his breath. Then he gave his head a little shake and plowed on.

“Once we knew you weren’t in Ealdor…” he trailed off for a moment, his face growing tight. “That’s when it got bad. You’d been gone for nearly two weeks. I couldn’t keep dismissing your strange behavior right before you vanished. I feared it was all connected, that you were in some sort of trouble, although I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what. I didn’t know why you packed a bag or where you’d gone, but I was sure you’d only intended to be gone a day or two. I knew you would have told me if it had been anything more than that.”

There was a hint of accusation in his voice, and Merlin turned his eyes down, focusing on stroking his horse’s neck instead of looking at the man beside him.

“Since you didn’t come back after a few days, I had to assume something had gone wrong. You fell and hurt yourself or you were attacked by bandits or…or slavers.” The quaver in his voice on the final word was subtle, but Merlin’s head jerked up at it.

_Slavers._

That’s what Arthur had feared most, he realized, staring at the stoic figure beside him. In his list of worst-case scenarios, that had been the top.

Had he feared they’d killed Merlin? Or feared they hadn’t?

“Gwaine came back from a search a few weeks later,” he continued. “When they entered the courtyard, there was something thrown over the back of a horse. It turned out it was just a brown bag, not a person at all, but when I saw it, I thought…” his eyes glazed over, his breath coming heavier than usual through his nose. “And the thing is, I wasn’t surprised. I felt sick. I felt horrified. But I didn’t feel surprised.” He glanced sideways at Merlin. “That was the first time I admitted to myself that you might really be dead. I hoped you weren’t. And I was determined we’d find out what had happened, one way or another. But I knew you could be.” He cleared his throat and his voice turned matter-of-fact. “So we kept the searches going for about a year. Then I started to get some pushback on the use of resources, so we cut back to just Gwaine looking. He’s never stopped.”

Arthur sat up straighter and turned to face Merlin. “So in answer to your question, you and I have a lot to talk about.” The heaviness disappeared from his eyes, the spark of fury returning. “But I give you my word,” he continued with a grim smile, “I have no intention of executing you when we just got you back. Among other things, I’m certain Guinevere would kill me. You walk through that gate, and you will be perfectly free to walk back out of it again.”

Merlin chewed his lip. He’d never meant to make anyone worry. He’d never meant to make anyone _hurt_. But amidst the remorse he felt in response to the story, he also felt the relief of a weight, one he’d carried his entire life, slipping away.

The worst had happened and his secret was out. And Arthur was not going to have him executed.

He let out a deep breath and nudged his horse forward toward Camelot.

* * *

Years ago, when Merlin had first seen Camelot, it had taken his breath away. Not because of its beauty, but simply because of its size and busyness. Coming from Ealdor, the bustle had thrilled and intimidated him.

Now it took his breath away, not because of its size, but because it was home. And gods, had he missed his home.

Riding through the citadel, he tried to pretend time had moved backwards and he was returning from a patrol or quest with his friends. But the fantasy fell flat; even his imagination couldn’t make this homecoming feel anything similar to those warm memories. Arthur rode silently next to him, his face hard, and Merlin didn’t know what awaited him once they reached the castle.

But he forgot all about his apprehension when they reached the courtyard and he saw the queen waiting for them on the steps.

Gwen had always been a pretty girl, but Queen Guinevere was a sight to behold. She still bore that same sweetness, and the same kindness still shone out of her eyes. But she held herself with poise, the kind of calm confidence Arthur emitted in public.

How did she learn that? Did Arthur give her lessons?

Merlin met her gaze as he dismounted and gave her a tentative smile, and those warm eyes seem to fill with a hundred different emotions. But Gwen didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her skirt in one fist and ran to him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing hard.

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh as he squeezed back. This was a much better greeting than getting knocked on his back and stabbed repeatedly.

“Your majesty,” he murmured teasingly, and Gwen giggled.

“Don’t you dare,” she growled through her laughter.

“But I must. You’re the queen now. It’s only proper.”

Her body stiffened, the humor disappearing, and Merlin braced himself for what he knew must be coming.

“I am the queen now,” she whispered, her arms still wrapped tightly around his shoulders. “And you weren’t there, Merlin. We’d waited so long for that day, and you weren’t there. And he tried to act like it didn’t matter, but it did.”

Merlin closed his eyes against the familiar pang of pain. She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought about a million times before. He should have been the one to talk Arthur through his nerves, or, failing that, to distract him with jokes. He doubted his replacement would have been any good at doing either. He should have been the one to hand him his ceremonial sword, to walk with him to the throne room. He should have stood behind him at the feast, teasing him and making sure he had enough wine, but not too much.

Merlin had pictured that day the way it _should_ have been a thousand times, and Gwen was right. He should have been by Arthur’s side. And it broke his heart that he’d never get that back.

But Gwen was wrong too.

“You wore pearls in your hair,” he said quietly into her ear, and she went perfectly still in his arms. “Your dress had lace on the sleeves and bare shoulders. Arthur grinned like a complete loon the entire way through the ceremony, even though he kept catching himself and trying to look more dignified. He sneezed in the middle of your vows, and you laughed.” He pulled back slightly and laid a hand on her cheek. “You looked beautiful, Gwen. Like a true queen.”

Gwen sucked in a shocked breath, her eyes wide. “You came,” she breathed.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Merlin answered honestly. “I did an aging spell so no one would recognize me.” He made a face. "And then Gaius had to give me a haircut and I had to shave, because for some reason that spell always gives me like a foot of hair."

She frowned, thinking back, then realization dawned on her face. “You talked to us, didn’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question. “There was a weird old man in a blue tunic in the corridor on the way to the feast. He cried when he congratulated us.”

Merlin grinned. “I shouldn’t have. Gaius said my eyes still looked the same. It wasn’t impossible someone could have recognized me. But I just...I couldn’t miss it, Gwen.”

She returned his smile, but the grief lingered in her eyes. “I'm so glad you were there, Merlin. But it doesn’t change the fact that we didn’t _know_ you were there. I don't think Arthur ever gave up hope, not really. But honestly, I thought you were dead. I thought you must be, because I was sure you would have come home otherwise. And Arthur may not have believed it, but he lived in fear of it."

“I know.” Merlin shuffled his feet guiltily and lowered his voice to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “How much trouble am I in?”

“Well,” Gwen said, turning and tucking her arm through his to guide him back into the castle. “You don’t have a sword through you, so not as much trouble as I feared you might be.”

As they reached the doors, Merlin heard a voice call behind him.

“Merlin. You have twenty minutes to drop off your things, and then I want to see you in my chambers."

* * *

“Sire,” Clark said, bowing as Arthur entered the room. He’d clearly interrupted the servant in the midst of...what _was_ he doing, actually? Was he polishing the bedside table?

Gods, Arthur’s chambers had never looked so clean. He felt guilty walking across the floor in his muddy boots.

“Would like me to draw a bath for you, my lord?” the servant asked.

“Not yet,” Arthur said regretfully. As nice as it would be to wash the grime of the trip off, he had business to attend to first. “But if you could bring dinner, I would appreciate it.” He paused, then reluctantly added, “I’ll have a guest, so bring two meals.”

Merlin had always been lean, but Arthur couldn't help but notice the man was even thinner after his months of traveling.

A loud knock on the door startled him, and for a moment, Arthur assumed it was Merlin. But then he realized Merlin wouldn’t knock like that; his friend had been hesitant, almost timid since their reunion. If he knocked at all, it would be calmer, less aggressive.

When Clark opened the door, it was Dover who strode into the room without waiting for an invitation or closing the door behind him.

“My lord,” he said with exaggerated relief. “Is all well? You left the city without telling anyone. I was concerned.”

That wasn’t entirely accurate. What Dover really meant was Arthur hadn’t told _him_.

“Everything is fine. I had an urgent matter come up,” Arthur said calmly. “Fortunately, it has been addressed.”

Dover waited, clearly expecting more information, but Arthur didn’t provide any. Since reading Gaius’s letters, it had been obvious Arthur no longer had need of Dover’s services; after all, the mystery of Emrys was solved. But he was still trying to figure out how to get rid of the man without telling him the truth or casting suspicion on Merlin. He had an unsettling fear that even if he fired Dover, Merlin might not be entirely safe from the headhunter.

Still, it was probably unwise to have them both in the castle at the same time. Arthur would have to figure out how to make his excuses and send the man on his way.

A shuffling sound caught his attention, and Arthur looked over to see Merlin easing through the open door. He glanced around at the other men in the room, clearly uncertain whether Arthur was ready for him.

“Merlin, come in. Dover was just leaving.”

The headhunter scowled briefly before surprise took over. “Merlin?” he repeated. “Gaius’s ward?”

“Indeed,” Arthur said guardedly. Where had he heard about Merlin? And more importantly, _what_ had he heard about Merlin? Enough to put together that he might be Emrys?

“I thought he was dead,” Dover said bluntly, and even though Merlin was standing right there, alive and well, that wound was still raw enough to draw a glare from the king.

“Clearly he’s not,” he said shortly. “That will be all, Dover.”

The scowl reappeared, but Dover bowed and left the room, giving Merlin an appraising glance as he passed him.

“Clark, please see to the food,” Arthur reminded him, and the servant also gave a deep bow before leaving. Merlin watched, looking less than impressed at the display of respect.

Arthur wanted him to comment. He wanted Merlin to say one critical thing, because Arthur had a lengthy list of thoughts he could share in response if Merlin didn’t _approve_ of his new manservant.

But instead, Merlin said, “So that was the witchfinder, was it?” And Arthur heard the dark edge in his voice.

“Headhunter,” he corrected automatically, and Merlin scoffed.

Nearly everyone Arthur relied on for advice had disapproved of his decision to hire Dover, but Merlin was the first one to outright _scoff_. And that little noise did what all of Gwen’s reprimands and Leon’s diplomatic questions and Gwaine’s skeptical looks had failed to do.

Arthur looked away, irritably trying to push aside the swell of shame rising up in response to the sound. “It seemed necessary at the time. I needed to make sure whoever was providing this Emrys character with information wasn’t sharing that information with anyone else. Like Morgana.”

Merlin stiffened at Arthur’s mention of Emrys, reminding them both why he was there.

They had things to discuss.

For a moment, Arthur considered making Merlin stand for the entire conversation. That was his prerogative as king - to sit while others stood or knelt, reminding them who held the power in the conversation.

It was the kind of trick he’d use without a second thought on someone like Dover, but it seemed petty to do such a thing with Merlin. Besides, Merlin would see straight through such a tactic.

“Grab a chair,” he said, nodding to the table as he took his own seat behind his desk. He watched as Merlin awkwardly wrestled a chair over until he could sit opposite Arthur. Then he took his seat, his hands folded in his lap, his head bowed.

It was an uncharacteristically humble posture from Merlin, and for some reason that annoyed Arthur. He struggled to keep his voice mild as he opened the conversation.

“So. Merlin. In the past five months, I’ve had four emissaries from various druid camps and one high priest of the Old Religion show up in my throne room wanting to swear fealty to me.”

Merlin looked up at that, a brilliant grin spreading across his face. “Have you really?” he demanded.

Arthur blinked. He’d assumed Merlin knew that, but the surprise on his servant’s face was genuine.

“I have. They all say they’ve spoken with a sorcerer named Emrys who told them stories about me. About things I’ve done over the years. In some cases, stories that are not necessarily known to the general public. I don’t suppose you would know anything about this?”

Merlin smiled shyly, an expression Arthur wasn’t accustomed to seeing on his face. “I tried not to share anything too personal. Personal for you or personal for me. But I knew... Arthur, your father made a lot of enemies among those with magic. To some degree, I can’t even blame them for their attacks against Camelot. It was little more than self-defense, when you think about it. But I _knew_ if they just knew the truth of who you were, if I could get them to see you’re not like your father, then maybe they would stop attacking. And if they stopped attacking, maybe you would see magic doesn’t have to only be used for harm.”

“You want me to legalize magic,” Arthur surmised quietly, and Merlin’s smile fell.

“I was born with magic, Arthur. And I’ve used it to help Camelot. To help _you_. Of course I want to be able to live without fear of execution.”

Arthur tried to keep all emotion from his face as he braced himself for the next question. “And you've always wanted that?”

Merlin looked at him curiously for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Are you asking if I’ve…” he struggled to find the right words. “If I’ve been trying to _manipulate_ you all of these years?” He looked horrified at the idea, which eased Arthur’s fears, but did not eliminate them.

“Have you?”

“No,” Merlin said firmly. “I wanted magic legalized, but I have never tried to play you, Arthur. I’ve lied to keep myself safe. And, at times, to keep others safe, including you. But I have never lied to try to twist your judgment or trick you into ruling differently. _Never._ ”

And Merlin looked so impassioned and offended at the idea that Arthur couldn’t help but believe him.

“Then why?” he asked, letting his confusion show.

“Why what?”

This time it was Arthur who struggled for words. “I’ve never understood,” he began slowly, “why you were so sure. How you have always been so certain I would be a good king. Your faith in me seemed to come from nowhere. Especially considering how little you thought of me in the beginning. Don’t try to deny it,” he added, and the corner of Merlin’s mouth tipped up in a smirk.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“It never made sense to me before,” Arthur continued, ignoring him, "but it _really_ doesn’t make sense to me now. You know what I did to the druid camps. You’ve watched me stand by and watch sorcerers burn for doing nothing more than healing a family member or trying to buy supplies to take back to their village or camp. Why would you, someone born with magic, think _I_ would be a great king?”

Arthur tried not to let his thoughts linger on his words as he listed his sins. He knew what he was guilty of, but now wasn’t the time for wallowing. He’d indulged in enough of that over the past month; now was the time to figure out how to make it right.

“First of all,” Merlin pointed out, “those sorcerers burned under your father’s orders. Not yours. As I recall, you fought him when Gwen was blamed for healing her father. You said you wanted to live in a Camelot where the punishment fit the crime.”

The memory came back to Arthur, and another piece of the puzzle slid into place. “It was you,” he realized. “You even confessed!”

“Gwen was my friend, and she was hurting,” Merlin said softly. “How could I not heal her father?”

Arthur slumped back in his chair and shook his head, resisting the temptation to allow himself to be distracted by that revelation, but making a note to come back to it in the future. What else had Merlin done?

“I might not have ordered sorcerers to burn myself,” he said, refocusing his attention, “but that’s hardly enough to earn the loyalty of a sorcerer.”

“No,” Merlin agreed. “That wouldn’t be enough.” He paused, pursing his lips as he searched for words. “There were little things, early on. You believed me when I told you about Sir Valiant, even though I was just a commoner and you hardly knew me. Even if you were a prat and sacked me later. And you went and got that flower to save my life when I was poisoned.”

“You were poisoned protecting me,” Arthur pointed out, but Merlin shook his head.

“I was a subject - a servant - protecting a prince. That’s to be expected. But no one expects a prince to risk his life for a single servant. That showed you had integrity and compassion. And there were other things - you helped that druid boy escape execution. You came to help protect Ealdor just because we needed help, even though it wasn’t part of Camelot.”

“I didn’t do that just because it was the right thing to do,” Arthur pointed out quietly, and Merlin smiled.

“I know. And that told me you were humble enough to care about a servant, even if you weren't willing to admit it. But those were all small things. They told me you were a good man, despite your best attempts to pretend otherwise, but plenty of good men would make terrible kings. But then…”

Merlin’s eyes glazed over with memory, and Arthur felt an unexpected flare of impatience. After so many years, was he finally going to know the answer to Merlin’s belief in him?

“You killed the unicorn,” Merlin said softly. “You cursed Camelot.”

Arthur froze. That memory still haunted him, remembering how he’d condemned his people to starve for the sake of a trophy.

“You stood and looked out over your kingdom,” Merlin continued, “and I saw how it broke your heart. I saw you would have done anything - _anything_ \- to help your people. And then I saw you willingly drink poison to save them. That’s when I knew you would be a great king. When I saw you valued your people more than your own life, and that would you prioritize them above anything else. And you’ve shown it over and over again since then, along with proving you're a wise and skilled leader. But that was the first time I knew.”

Arthur stared at him, processing Merlin’s words.

That was it? Merlin believed in him because _he loved his people?_

“That’s just part of being a prince or a king,” he argued with a frown. “Loving the people comes with the job.”

Merlin grinned, a smile that was full of pride and affection and made Arthur squirm uncomfortably; he wasn't sure he was worthy of either from Merlin. “Having grown up in Essetir, I can assure you, that’s not true. The very fact you believe it’s an inherent part of your role shows what kind of king you are, Arthur.”

A knock at the door interrupted, and Arthur called, “Enter.” As he expected, Clark came in with the tray of food. He bowed as he entered Arthur’s presence, then asked, “Would you like the food on the desk or on the table, your majesty?”

“On the desk, please.”

Clark quickly and neatly set the food up between the two of them, darting a curious look in Merlin’s direction once or twice, but never making eye contact with the king. When he finished, he stood up straight, hands clasped behind him, eyes to the ground. “Do you require anything else, your majesty?”

“No, that will be all.”

The man bowed again before walking briskly from the room. Once the door closed behind him, Merlin turned an incredulous look to Arthur.

“Are you serious?”

“Look, I tried to find one who wasn’t a bootlicker,” Arthur defended himself before he could remember he shouldn’t _need_ to defend himself to Merlin. “It turns out to be a difficult trait to find in a servant. I’ve only found one meeting that criteria so far, and he tried to steal from me his third day on the job.”

Merlin froze in the middle of reaching for a piece of chicken, his eyes darting up to Arthur’s and flashing with indignation. “He did _what?_ ”

Arthur fought a smile. It had been so long since he’d heard that protective note in Merlin’s voice, and something about it soothed him. Crazily enough, Merlin’s protectiveness made him feel a little more secure.

Although maybe it wasn’t _that_ crazy, given how many times Merlin had protected him. It turned out he wasn’t just a clumsy manservant who didn’t know how to hold a sword after all.

“He was caught and banished,” Arthur assured him. “But unfortunately, the rest have been bootlickers. And I think I’ve just about driven Guinevere mad because I’ve fired so many of them at this point.” He glowered at Merlin. “Stop looking so pleased. I’m still mad at you for disappearing, you know. Insufferable manservants are just one more reason to add to the list.”

The smug smile dropped from Merlin’s face. “I’m sorry. I know I keep saying that, but I am.”

Arthur nodded and sighed. They had barely scratched the surface of everything they needed to talk about, but exhaustion was catching up with him. Now that Merlin was sitting safely in front of him, his mind was letting the horror and stress from the last year and a half suck his energy dry. And Merlin must have seen it in his face, because his expression turned sympathetic.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he said. “After you’ve had a chance to rest some.”

Arthur stood up abruptly as a burst of alarm broke through him. “That’s what you said last time," he snapped, and Merlin winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “But I swear, Arthur, I will be here tomorrow, and we will talk more. I give you my word.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and tried to force his pulse to slow. He knew the panic was unreasonable. Nodding tightly, he agreed, “Tomorrow then.”

Merlin stood and, with a slight smirk, gave Arthur an exaggerated bow in imitation of Clark. But behind the impish smile, Arthur thought he might detect a note of sincerity in it.

He turned to face the window as Merlin crossed the room to the door. His head was full, and his emotions were raw and overwhelmed, and later on, he would blame what he did next on fatigue.

As Merlin’s footsteps approached the door, Arthur called out.

“Merlin.”

The footsteps paused, then Arthur heard him take a step or two back toward him.

“Yes, sire?”

“Stay.” He wasn’t looking at Merlin, but he could feel his confusion, and he realized his order hadn’t made sense to the man.

And in the same moment, he realized it couldn’t be an order.

“Please stay,” he amended, turning back around, but not meeting Merlin’s eye. “Not just until tomorrow. I understand why you left. But please...stay.”

Merlin didn’t answer immediately, and a quick glance allowed Arthur to see the torn look on his face.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he said, turning back to the window. “Just think about it.”

A moment of silence, and then Merlin said softly, “I will. Goodnight, sire.”

Arthur let himself smile out the window at the familiar words. “Goodnight, Merlin.” 


	7. The Path Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Epilogue should be up next week, probably Tuesday-ish.

“Are you _sure_?” Merlin repeated for the third time, and Iseldir laughed from where he walked beside him. It occurred to Merlin that he didn’t believe he’d ever heard the man laugh before, and the sound startled him as it bounced off the castle walls.

“The damage is done, Emrys,” the druid said, pausing to look out on the field below where the knights trained. “You couldn’t stop the rumors about your king now even if you wanted. I doubt there’s a sorcerer, priest, or druid in Camelot who hasn’t heard your stories by this point. And with what King Arthur is planning next, I think it’s safe to say your message has been clearly sent. Now each of us will have to choose for ourselves what we will do with that information. Some will swear fealty, as I did this morning, and others will choose to remain enemies. And not even you can control that. You must let destiny take its path.”

Merlin frowned. “What do you mean, what Arthur is planning next?”

Iseldir just smiled mysteriously. “That will have to be a question for your king.” He eyed Merlin curiously, then followed his gaze down to where Arthur stood with the other knights, taking a brief break. Leon said something and Arthur laughed, then punched the man in the arm before returning to the field. Nearby, the other knights snickered. “You missed him, didn’t you?”

Merlin scoffed, but when Iseldir just waited patiently, the smile fell. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I did. More than I’d care to admit.”

“Especially to him?” Iseldir asked, raising an eyebrow in a manner reminiscent of Gaius, and Merlin laughed.

“His head is already big enough.”

The druid smiled and shook his head. “Well, there’s no need to leave him again, if you don’t wish to.”

“He needs my protection,” Merlin argued, pulling his gaze away from the field below to face the druid again.

“Then protect him from here,” Iseldir said simply. “There are plenty of us to carry on your work of spreading the word of the Once and Future King.”

Merlin wasn’t sure why he was arguing; he _wanted_ to stay in Camelot. But he felt guilty for staying, for choosing what he wanted instead of what was best for Arthur and for the kingdom.

But Iseldir wouldn’t lie to him. Maybe just this once, what he wanted to do and what he should do were one and the same.

After seeing Iseldir off, Merlin wandered the castle for a bit, thinking through his conversation with the druid leader. Then he made his way to the familiar chambers. His hand hovered over the handle, almost opening the door out of habit. But letting himself into Arthur’s quarters without knocking had been a questionable move even when he had been Arthur’s manservant; now that kind of boldness would likely earn him a day in the stocks, or worse. So as awkward and foreign as it felt, he rapped on the door.

“Come,” he heard a voice call from inside.

Arthur stood by his bed, apparently just returned from training, wrestling to remove his armor. He glanced up only briefly at Merlin, then did a doubletake, looking up again and giving him his full attention.

“Merlin?” 

The sorcerer fidgeted guiltily at the surprised look on Arthur’s face. This was the first time since returning that Merlin had come to see him without being summoned. He hadn’t been avoiding Arthur, exactly. He just hadn’t had a lot of excuses to stop by for a visit. And yes, he’d perhaps kept pretty close to Gaius’s chambers, where he wouldn’t be likely to run into the king or his knights, but why shouldn’t he?

It wasn't that Arthur still seemed angry with him. His anger had seemed to burn out shockingly quickly, in fact. And the knights had softened as well, smiling at him and greeting him when they passed in the halls. But every time Merlin saw them, he got an unpleasant squishy feeling in his gut that he tried to ignore. After all, there was no point in feeling guilty. What was done was done. He might as well just focus on moving forward in this new life, where he dedicated his time to learning from Gaius instead of serving the king. 

And fine. Maybe - _maybe_ \- he was avoiding talking to Arthur about certain things. Certain lies. Certain choices. Memories he didn't particularly care to revisit, and certainly wasn't eager for the king to know.

Not that his hiding had done much to keep Gwaine away; he’d been by half a dozen times, at first to yell at Merlin, and then there’d been one particularly long visit with many apologies on Merlin’s part and drunken crying and hugging on Gwaine’s. But in recent weeks, his friend’s humor and mirth had finally started to reappear.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, snickering as he watched Arthur fumble to get one of the clasps on his back unfastened.

“What does it looked like I’m doing?” Arthur grumbled, scowling as he stretched back, his fingers brushing the buckle. Merlin stepped closer and pushed Arthur’s hands away, his deft fingers quickly performing the familiar task.

“Where’s Clark?” Merlin asked as he lifted the breastplate off.

Arthur glanced at him quickly before looking down, focused on removing his gauntlets. “I fired him.”

Merlin’s eyebrows went up at that. “Why?”

"Bootlicker," Arthur mumbled, shrugging and avoiding Merlin’s eyes.

The sorcerer tried to hide his smile, not just because Arthur wouldn’t have the obsequious man fawning all over him anymore, but because Arthur didn’t even _want_ it. He had to admit, he felt a little bit proud of his friend. He'd come a long way. “I’m surprised the steward hasn’t already sent a replacement."

Arthur hesitated for just a moment before admitting, “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Why not?” Without thinking, Merlin made his way over to the fireplace to get the flames going again. The room was uncomfortably cool.

“Guinevere,” Arthur explained, grimacing. “If I tell the steward, she’ll find out. She’s already frustrated with me because I keep firing servants. And she liked Clark.”

“And you think she won’t notice when you suddenly don’t have a servant at all?”

“Of course she’ll notice,” Arthur snapped. “I’m just putting off telling her until it’s really necessary. And maybe by then I’ll have a plan.”

Merlin snickered to himself. It delighted him that Arthur was so set on not upsetting Gwen. He hadn’t really expected anything different, but he couldn’t deny that married Arthur was an entertaining sight to behold.

“Merlin?”

Merlin froze as the flames in front of him came back to life. There was something soft in Arthur’s voice, almost vulnerable, and Merlin didn’t want to turn around for fear the king’s expression might match his tone. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to stand and face him.

But Arthur’s face was not soft or vulnerable; it was entirely inscrutable. And while that was disconcerting – normally Merlin could read Arthur with ease – Merlin couldn’t help feeling relieved.

“Have you decided?”

“Decided?” Merlin asked blankly, but the word was barely out of his mouth before he realized what Arthur was asking.

“About staying,” the king clarified.

Merlin sighed. He had decided, and his earlier conversation with Iseldir had eased any remaining doubts. But just because he had decided didn’t mean things would be simple going forward.

“I’m a criminal, Arthur,” he reminded him gently. “By the laws of Camelot, you should have put me to death the day you found me in the woods.”

Arthur glared and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m working on that,” he snapped. “Just…try not to get caught until I have it taken care of, and you should be fine.”

Merlin paused, unsure what to ask first. “You’re working on it?” he echoed. “What does that mean? And try not to get caught by _whom_? The king already knows!”

“Try not to get caught by anyone who will throw a hissy fit about it and put me in an awkward position. Basically, anyone who doesn’t already know you have magic. Especially Dover.”

Merlin drew back, startled. “I thought you fired Dover?”

“I did,” the king said with a scowl. “But just because he’s not working for me anymore doesn’t mean he’s not a threat. He has stayed in Camelot, and I’m sure he’s still trying to find Emrys. We’ve even caught him in the castle once or twice, although he always has a good excuse. Keep your distance from him, Merlin.”

Merlin made a face at the unnecessary order. He had no interest in being anywhere near the witchfinder.

“As for working on it…” Arthur continued, and he sighed and dropped into his chair at the table. “Merlin, this is the closest Camelot has come to being at peace with magic since my father started the Great Purge. I have no desire to continue the bloodshed he started, and thanks to you, we have the beginnings of understanding and acceptance on both sides. Believe me, I have no intention of punishing you for that.”

Merlin studied the king carefully. “Iseldir said you have something planned.”

Arthur nodded. “A summit. I’m inviting the representatives from the druids and priests who pledged fealty. The goal is to meet with them, along with a few knights and advisors, to gain a better understanding of magic.” He hesitated. “My hope is it will be the first step to revising the laws concerning magic. But I need to know more, to understand better, before I can figure out what those revisions should be.”

Merlin stared for a moment in stunned silence. “Why?” he asked finally. “All these years, I’ve tried to convince you magic might not be evil, and you’ve refused to listen. Why believe it now?”

A series of emotions flowed across Arthur’s face; first surprise, then incredulity, and finally amusement, ending in an actual laugh.

“You really do need everything spelled out for you, don’t you, Merlin?” he asked, shaking his head. “Because I’m tired of bloodshed, and now I suspect much of that bloodshed was entirely unnecessary. Because seemingly out of nowhere, I’ve had people with magic swear their allegiance to me, despite knowing I may kill them on sight, and I want to be a king who is worthy of that kind of faith. And because, you idiot, _you_ have magic! And you’re brave and loyal, and definitely not power-hungry or corrupt, and certainly not _evil_. And that means I have to deal with the reality that much of what I believed about magic must be wrong.”

Technically speaking, no one was permitted to sit in the presence of the king unless they were invited to do so, but Merlin fell into a chair, staring at Arthur, pale and dumbfounded. He searched the king’s face, but he saw no sign of humor or hesitation. Arthur was serious. He had chosen his path, and he was committed to it.

And he was going to have a summit. To learn more about magic.

“Am I invited?”

Arthur cocked his head to the side. “Invited?”

“To the summit,” Merlin clarified.

For some reason, the question made Arthur’s eyes narrow into a glare.

“Are you joking?” he demanded, and Merlin drew back in response to the edge in his voice.

“You said it was to learn about magic, and I know plenty about magic!” he pointed out hastily. “Why shouldn’t I come?”

Arthur stood again, shoving the chair back and crossing the room to glower at the fireplace.

“We live in the same castle, Merlin! I consider you a _friend,_ despite the fact you disappeared without a word, and despite the fact you’ve basically refused to speak to me since returning unless I’ve _commanded_ your presence. If you want to talk about magic, all you have to do is walk down the damn hall and we’ll talk about magic!” He turned back to Merlin, frustrated etched on his face. “ _You’re_ the one who doesn’t seem to want to discuss it!"

“You’re the king,” Merlin protested. “I know how busy you are!” But the excuse sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“I can make time for this,” Arthur said tersely. “And you know perfectly well that I would.” Then he paused, turned back to the fire again, but now there was a tension in his shoulders and, unless Merlin was mistaken, his ears had taken on a reddish hue. “You never answered my question, you know.”

“Question?”

“About staying.”

Merlin smiled, even though Arthur couldn’t see it. “Yes, Arthur,” he answered softly. “I’m staying. Someone has to watch out for your royal ass, after all.”

“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat. “You can’t exactly watch out for me if you’re never around, you know.”

“Are you offering me my old job back?” Merlin joked with a grin, then froze as Arthur didn’t move and his ears turned even redder. Merlin slowly stood, taking a step toward the king. “Arthur?”

“I know you might not want it,” Arthur said stiffly. “I understand you’ve been doing more with Gaius since you’ve been back, and no doubt training to be a physician is far more appealing than – than skivvying for some king. And besides, I’m sure powerful sorcerers have better things to do than wash clothes. But if you wanted…” he trailed off and shifted awkwardly before turning back around, his gaze darting everywhere except for Merlin’s face.

The sorcerer studied him for a long moment. Then his eyes narrowed mischievously and he took a step toward Arthur.

“Say it,” he said slowly.

“Say what?” Arthur asked, finally meeting Merlin’s gaze and frowning in confusion.

“If you want me to be your servant again, say it,” Merlin repeated. “Say, ‘Merlin, you are a very good manservant.’”

Arthur let out a huff, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t say you’re a _very good_ manservant. More that—”

“I could always be a physician,” Merlin interrupted, and Arthur scowled, then let out an exaggerated sigh.

“You’re certainly something,” he muttered under his breath, but Merlin just raised his eyebrows and waited. “Fine. You’re a… very good manservant.” Arthur winced as he forced the words out. “Happy now?”

Merin grinned. “Was that so hard?”

Arthur scowled. “So? Is that a yes?”

“I suppose,” Merlin said with feigned indifference. He wasn’t particularly keen on going back to the actual _serving_ part of the job, but the protecting and advising and occasionally saving Camelot? That had become a part of him over time, and he couldn’t deny he wanted it back. And when the tension visibly drained from Arthur’s shoulders, Merlin felt his own muscles relax as well. “I told you before, Arthur. I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die.”

Arthur nodded, not quite successfully hiding his smile. “Well, I’m not sure about ‘until the day I die.' I have a feeling the future will hold some interesting things for you, _Emrys_. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about all of that – magic and prophecies and the rest of it – if you’re my manservant again.” Arthur cleared his throat again and almost succeeded at sounding matter-of-fact as he continued. “And I expect we _will_ talk. Really talk, Merlin. Not like before.”

Merin made a face, because he knew what Arthur meant. The few conversations they’d had since he’d returned had been stilted and forced. Arthur asked questions and Merlin answered, and both sighed with relief when the ordeal was done and Merlin could retreat to the safety of Gaius’s quarters. It had been a long cry from the easy talks they’d once shared as Arthur ate his meals or procrastinated his work while Merlin did his chores.

“I’ll do my best,” Merlin promised. “I don’t know everything, and I don’t know if I can explain everything I do know. But I'll do my best to explain what I can.”

Arthur nodded solemnly.

“That’s all I ask.”

“Just so you know, I’m not going to do all that bowing nonsense Clark did. Or the standing around silently, like I don’t have any thoughts of my own. Or—”

“I know,” Arthur interrupted, fighting against a grin and failing. “Believe me, Merlin. I know.”

* * *

“Don’t you seem cheerful,” an amused voice commented, and Merlin turned to see Gwaine, still in full armor.

“Did you stay late for training?” Merlin asked in surprise. His friend wasn’t usually one to voluntarily sign up for unnecessary work.

“Yes, well, some of my skills have gotten a bit rusty, so I need to put in a little extra if I want to knock his majesty on his royal ass in the next tournament,” Gwaine said airily. “Which I do. Besides, the others stayed late as well, and I can't let them show me up, can I? Now, why were you bouncing along looking so perky? You have a date or something?”

Merlin snorted. “I have to be back to help his Royal Pratness prepare for dinner in an hour. Which is kind of the _opposite_ of a date. In fact, given how Arthur feels about days off, I’ll probably not have a chance for a date for another year or two.”

“You might want to work on your complaining,” Gwaine said dryly. “You sound far too happy for it to be believable.” His mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “I take it you’re the king’s manservant again?”

“For all _his_ complaining, it seems I’m the only one he can stand in the role.” Merlin couldn’t help his pleased smirk as he thought about falling into his old routines. He had missed spending time with Arthur and the knights. Missed feeling like he had a purpose.

But maybe Arthur was right. Maybe one day, he could have those things without also having the washing and cleaning and mucking. It was a future he’d hardly dared dream of, but now Arthur had planted the seed, and it was impossible to keep it from growing.

“But he fired the other one this morning,” he continued, forcing thoughts of ‘someday’ aside, “and apparently he’s wasting away from having to do things himself, so I’m starting immediately.”

He pushed the door open to Gaius’s chambers, and Gwaine trailed him inside. The knight plopped himself comfortably down at the table and asked, “Where’s Gaius?”

Merlin shrugged. “He didn’t say anything about going out, so I’d guess some kind of emergency. Hungry?”

Merlin remembered only too well that as a servant, he could eat early or he could eat late, but he certainly shouldn’t expect to eat during dinnertime. He’d be busy attending to the king. All he’d get was whatever he stole off Arthur’s plate, and he could typically only pull off that trick if Arthur was eating alone in his quarters.

“Nah, I’m fine. Wouldn’t say no to a drink, though.”

Merlin skipped over the wine and handed Gwaine a cup of water instead, and his friend accepted it with a nod of thanks. “So tell me—”

But before he could get his question out, a loud knock sounded at the door. Merlin opened to find Leon and Elyan on either side of a rather rough-looking Percival. The large man held a blood-soaked rag to his brow.

“Merlin,” Leon greeted. “Is Gaius around?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Merlin said with a frown, ushering them in. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Percival said crossly. “I’m fine.”

“That’s just a new hat, is it?” Merlin nodded to the rag.

“We were sparring, and I accidentally landed a blow on the head,” Elyan explained, looking caught somewhere between smug and apologetic.

“How did you accidentally hit him on the head?” Gwaine asked in bemusement. “You can barely _reach_ his head.”

Merlin smothered a snicker at Elyan’s glare as he grabbed some of Gaius’s supplies. “Sit,” he ordered, and Percival rolled his eyes, but obeyed. The rest of the knights found seats, settling in comfortably, and something almost like homesickness came over Merlin as he listened to them chat. He hadn’t been in a room with all of them since before he left (unless he counted that horrid ride from the druid camp back to the castle), and he didn’t feel quite _comfortable_ with them _._ But at least they seemed at ease with each other; this was how it was supposed to be, with jokes and teasing and easy laughter. Not strained silences punctured by formal questions.

He had just started to clean the cut when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. It came from the back of the room, in the opposite direction from the knights.

There was nothing there, but Merlin was certain he’d seen _something_.

Then he noticed something else.

His bedroom door was ajar by about three or four inches.

Merlin _always_ closed his door. He did keep some fairly dangerous and incriminating contraband in there, after all, and he didn’t want to encourage visitors when he wasn’t home. Besides, he _knew_ he closed the door when he left earlier because Gaius had yelled at him for slamming it.

Maybe Gaius had gone in? But why would he? And Gaius would have either closed it or left it wide open; there’d be no reason for him to pull it partially shut.

He stood slowly, still holding the rag in his hand, staring at that gap.

“Uh, Merlin?” Percival said, and Merlin glanced down to see the knight trying to wipe at the blood with his hand to keep it running into his eye.

“Oh! Sorry!” Merlin said hastily, pressing the rag against the cut. “Here, hold that there.” He grabbed Percival’s hand and plunked it onto the rag, then turned his full attention to the back room.

“What is it?” Gwaine asked quietly, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword as he stood, his gaze following Merlin’s.

“Oh, nothing,” Merlin said flippantly, but he gave his friend a meaningful look. If someone was in his room, he didn’t think they could see out, but they could hear.

Next to him, Leon slowly drew his sword. “We should approach cautiously,” he murmured. “Let one of us go in first, and we can—”

Merlin launched into a sprint, racing up the stairs and throwing the door open. Behind him, he heard Leon make a strangled sound of annoyance before running after him.

His plan was to move too quickly for whoever it was to prepare for him or to hide, not that his room offered a multitude of hiding spots.

Unfortunately, his plan failed.

The moment he threw the door open, he felt a sharp impact against his chest, knocking him back. His foot stumbled as it hit the top step, and he crashed down, taking Leon with him. As he landed, he had enough presence of mind to be thankful he hadn’t found himself impaled on the knight’s sword.

The rest of the knights were on their feet now, swords in hand, including Percival, all eyes on the door to Merlin’s room.

Merlin saw the sidhe staff first, clenched in a pale fist, and he cursed under his breath. He was powerful, but that staff could turn even a weak opponent into a formidable foe.

He was therefore relieved when the figure took another step, his face becoming visible, and Merlin saw it was only Dover.

The man was an ass, but at least he wasn’t an ass with magic. But did one need magic to use the staff? Or did it have enough magic of its own that anyone could wield it?

“Stay down,” Dover threatened, the staff clutched in his left hand and a knife in his right.

“You’re going to take on four knights of Camelot with a knife?” Merlin said before he could stop himself, and the witchfinder gave him an amused smirk.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m not _taking on the knights_.” Turning his attention to the four men, he held up the staff. “I found this in the boy’s room, under that same floorboard. It’s proof of sorcery.”

Leon fixed Dover with an irritated look as he climbed to his feet. “Put the staff and the knife down, Dover,” he ordered, “and get out of there.”

“What are you doing in Merlin’s room?” Gwaine added. “I believe Arthur asked you to leave the castle.”

Dover looked around, baffled. “I…I came to seek a remedy from Gaius. For a headache. But—”

“You decided to go to the man you had arrested instead of visiting any number of physicians in the lower town?” Elyan interrupted. “And you just let yourself in when Gaius wasn’t here?”

“And why are you _in Merlin’s room?_ ” Gwaine repeated.

“What – I mean, I—” Dover spluttered, looking from one to the next as he made his way down the steps. “Are you not hearing what I’m saying? The boy is a _sorcerer!_ Arrest him!”

Leon sighed. “You were told your services were no longer needed in Camelot.”

“I was hired to find Emrys, and I did,” the witchfinder snapped, his face beginning to turn red as he realized the knights weren’t going to rally behind him. “He is a sorcerer and a threat to the king and the kingdom, and _it is your duty to arrest him!_ ”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Gwaine spoke up. “Merlin isn’t a sorcerer. Just hand over the staff and get out of here, and we won’t tell the king you trespassed into the private quarters of his personal manservant.”

“Personal manservant?” Elyan echoed, excitement clear in his voice. “So you’re going to be around again?”

“Thank the gods,” Leon muttered under his breath.

Dover took a step back, his eyes moving from face to face. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “You know the staff is proof of sorcery. Why won’t you take him?”

“Like the man said,” Percival said firmly, stepping closer, “it’s just a misunderstanding.”

Dover stared hard at the bloodied knight, then his eyes widened. “He’s enchanted you!” he realized, and aimed both the staff and the knife at Percival. “He’s enchanted all of you!”

“Dover,” Percival said in exasperation, “just give me the weapons, okay? No one has to get to hurt. Here.” He reached for the staff, and Merlin felt a rush of alarm as Dover swung blindly with it in panic, causing Percival to jump back to avoid getting hit, only to have Dover swing again.

Maybe the tip of the staff glowed because Dover was trying to use it, or maybe it was just the way the sun refracted through the stone, but Merlin didn’t wait to find out.

“ _Swefe nu!_ ” he hissed unthinkingly, stretching his hand out to the witchfinder.

And Dover collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Arthur nudged the unconscious body with his foot and sighed. He felt a headache coming on.

“Merlin,” he said wearily, “do you remember that conversation we had earlier?”

His newly-reappointed manservant swallowed. “He was attacking—” he began, but Arthur cut him off.

“What did I say, Merlin? What did I tell you not thirty minutes ago?”

Merlin gave him a forced, uncertain smile. “You said I was a very good manservant?”

Arthur glowered at him. “I _said_ you were not to let anyone catch you doing magic, _especially_ Dover! We literally _just_ had this conversation! And the first thing you do after leaving my chambers is go and use magic in front of Dover! _On_ Dover!”

“He was attacking!” Merlin insisted.

“A middle-aged man with a knife,” Arthur said flatly, “against four armed knights of Camelot. I think they would have been fine.”

“He had the staff!” Merlin protested. “I don’t know if he could have done anything with it since he doesn’t have magic himself, but it’s possible! This staff is _really_ powerful and really dangerous!”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then perhaps you should stop playing with it like it’s a child’s toy,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. Merlin looked down to where he’d been mindlessly twirling the staff like a top under his palm and sheepishly caught it mid-spin.

“So let me make sure I have this straight. You caught Dover in your room, and he’d found this powerful magical staff – in the _same hiding spot you used before?_ ”

“Correct.”

“Gods, you have pudding for brains,” Arthur muttered. Across the body, he spotted Guinevere trying to hide a snicker, but he had a feeling she was laughing at him, not Merlin.

“The floorboard is the only place I can put it where it’s out of sight,” Merlin pointed out. “Unless I keep it in the cupboard, and anyone could find it there.”

Arthur sighed. “All right, the staff lives in my quarters for now. No one should be snooping there.” He eyed the magical item distrustfully. He didn’t really want to sleep in the same room as the thing, but they clearly couldn’t leave it in Merlin’s room. And as his manservant, Merlin had complete access to Arthur’s rooms, so he could retrieve it if he really needed it.

“So you caught Dover with the staff, and then he tried to get the knights to arrest you,” Arthur continued the story. “Then he attacked, and you… put him to sleep.”

“I protected them,” Merlin said firmly. “That’s kind of what I do, Arthur.” 

“And now the witchfinder knows you have magic,” Arthur muttered to himself, falling back in a chair. “Damn it, Merlin.”

“He committed a crime, trespassing into private quarters,” Gwaine pointed out. “You could always banish him.”

“I can’t banish someone for trespassing, Gwaine. I banish people for major crimes like treason. For something like this, I can only put him in the stocks or fine him, and that won’t stop him from repeating what he’s learned. Hell, the stocks would just guarantee him an audience!”

“You’re the king,” Elyan pointed out. “You can do whatever you want.”

“It wouldn’t be just, Elyan,” Arthur said tiredly. “We all know the problem isn’t that he trespassed; it’s that he knows too much. And I can’t justly punish a man for _knowing_ something. Especially since I’m the one who hired him to find it out in the first place.”

“Who knows what?” a voice demanded from the door, and the group turned to see Gaius making his way into the room, trying to peer through the crowd to see what they were all crowded around. “Is – is that _Dover?_ ”

“Apparently he tried to attack Percival, and Merlin used magic on him,” Arthur explained flatly, and Gaius winced.

“What spell did you use?” he asked, kneeling down to check on the unconscious man.

“Swefe,” Merlin reported. Arthur noticed with exasperation that he was toying with the staff again.

“That’s good,” Gaius acknowledged. “He doesn’t appear to be harmed. Just knocked out. He should stay asleep until you wake him.” Turning his gaze back to Arthur, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Well, for starters, he was going to throw Merlin in the stocks.

The man had managed to keep his magic a secret for _years_. Now one month back in Camelot, and he exposes himself to the worst possible person?

Dread settled in his stomach and Arthur closed his eyes as he realized the only fair thing he _could_ do.

He could let Merlin run.

He could be gone before morning. Dover would wake, and he would tell everyone Merlin had magic, and Arthur would act surprised. And then he would hold his summit and he would work on revising the laws against magic, and then Merlin could come back. He could come home to a Camelot where he’d be free.

The witchfinder might be unpleasant and morally uncouth, but that didn’t make his crimes inherently worthy of harsher sentences. Arthur couldn’t protect his friend at the expense of unjustly punishing someone, even if he didn’t like him.

But the plan made Arthur feel physically ill. He couldn’t lose Merlin. Not again. Not so soon.

“What’s that?” he heard Merlin ask, and he reopened his eyes. Gaius had a stone in his hand, a strange, green rock that emitted a bright glow.

“Unless I’m mistaken,” Gaius said slowly, pulling the chain from Dover’s neck so he could look more closely, “it’s the Stone of Galdere. It lights up when in the presence of magic, and absorbs any nearby magic, weakening it.”

“Really?” Merlin asked, making a face. “I don’t feel any weaker.”

“I didn’t know such things existed,” Arthur said, bending over for a better look. “Why did my father never use tools like this to root out sorcery?”

“Because it’s incredibly unreliable,” Gaius said bluntly, with just a hint of amusement. “The earth is full of magic, some places more so than others. The stone could light up for any number of reasons, even when there are no magical items or people with magic around. It technically works, but it’s practically useless.”

“Clearly Dover thought it would be useful,” Elyan muttered.

“The real question,” Gaius said with a frown, “is how he got his hands on it. Last I knew, it was in the vaults. I cataloged it myself, several years back.”

Arthur froze for a moment, then he fought a smile. “You’re telling me he stole this from the vaults?”

“Perhaps,” Gaius admitted. “Or purchased it from someone who stole it. Regardless, I am certain it was taken from your vaults, sire.”

“He was found down there last week,” Leon spoke up. “Skulking around just outside of them. Remember that? You had the guards escort him out.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, taking a deep breath, then giving in and letting himself laugh. “I do. And stealing from the vaults… _that’s_ something I can banish someone for.”

“He’ll still talk,” Percival said quietly. “Whether he’s in Camelot or not, word will get out that the king’s manservant is a sorcerer.”

“Yes,” Arthur acknowledged, his laughter fading as his gaze rested on his friend. Merlin would be in danger once the rumors started. And Arthur would be in danger if his people believed he’d been duped or enchanted by a sorcerer. “I can put off the trial for a day or two, and banishing him will slow it down – especially if we send him with an escort who conveniently gets lost. But word will make its way back sooner or later.” He gave Merlin a grim smile. “I guess our timetable for revising the laws on magic just got moved up.”

The thought terrified him. Sorcery was such a powerful tool, and such an _unknown_ power to him. And now, letting that power loose in Camelot… he grew cold at the thought.

But across the room, Merlin grinned at him, his face bright with hope and excitement. And without meaning to, Arthur caught himself smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone was hoping for something awful for Dover, but I have some issues with the ending of the "Witchfinder" episode, and I couldn't quite shake that enough to give him a truly terrible fate. Hopefully this suffices!
> 
> The deleted scene following chapter three is now posted as a separate story in this series, and I'm also planning on posting the missing scene of Gwaine and Merlin working things out. I couldn't make it fit in the main story, but I know some people want to see what happened (including me, and I won't really know until I write it 😂).


	8. Epilogue

Alator was a terrifying man.

Leon supposed he should perhaps be flattered that Arthur had seated him next to the priest. Maybe it meant Arthur thought highly of his courage and diplomacy.

He tried to focus more on the potential flattery and less on his suspicions that the man by his side could snap his neck without so much as twitching an eyelid.

The king had insisted they use the round table for the summit, and that they sit alternating those with magic and those without. So to Leon’s left sat Golda, the gentle and brave druid who had first come to pledge fealty, and to his right sat the high priest of the Catha, his face impassive as he watched the king.

Leon narrowed his eyes at Arthur, who was seated between Iwan and _Merlin_. Leon honestly thought that was just cheating. If not for the knowledge that Merlin belonged by Arthur’s side, he would be genuinely irritated that Arthur selected the least-frightening person in the room to sit next to him.

Of course, it was possible Arthur wasn’t sitting beside Alator because he wanted to be able to see the man’s face. Which would be entirely fair and reasonable, but it didn’t make Leon feel any more comfortable.

A quick glance around the table sent Leon’s pulse rushing, partly with excitement and partly with fear. He couldn’t remember life before the Purge, and he’d been taught the evils of magic for as far back as he could remember. But this table was full of familiar faces, people who had come over the past months and bent their knee and vowed their loyalty to a king who hadn’t yet earned it. Because while Arthur may be a great king – of that, Leon had no doubt – his actions had done little to earn the trust of those with magic.

But he’d earned Merlin’s trust, and Merlin had won the trust of the others. Leon watched as across the table, Merlin whispered something to Arthur, and Arthur leaned forward to bring his ear closer to the sorcerer’s mouth. His eyes focused on the table in front of him, his face intent as he listened carefully to Merlin’s words. In just moments, Arthur would call the meeting to order, and Camelot would move into a new era. An era of peace and magic, led by a great king who was helped and guided by a great friend.

Leon never would have predicted this. But he had never hesitated to follow Arthur into war; he certainly wasn’t going to hesitate to follow him into peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two items of business:
> 
> -It was bound to happen eventually, but I have officially finished publishing the backlog of things sitting on my computer. Which means if I want to publish another story, I have to actually… well, you know. Write it. I have a few half-finished, and I suspect I’ll be done and able to start posting one of them some time in February. I might have one or two one-shots in the meantime. We’ll see. :) And I’m still working on that missing scene with Gwaine, of course. So I’m going to more or less disappear for a bit, but I will be back!
> 
> -I am trying (for the third time) to enter the world of Discord. (Every time, I download it, create an account, stare at it blankly for a solid two minutes, then say “Nah, too much effort.”) So if you know of any Merlin-focused servers you’d recommend – especially ones that deal a lot with gen stories instead of just exclusively (or almost exclusively) Merthur – please let me know! I’m looking for fic recs, writing community, and general nerdiness!


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